


Sihir of Slytherin

by Sihir_The_Slytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Related, Developing Friendships, During Canon, Gen, Good Slytherins, Islamic References, Religious Content, Side Story, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Slytherin Pride, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sihir_The_Slytherin/pseuds/Sihir_The_Slytherin
Summary: A young man with a dark family history must confront it when he is sorted into a House infamous for training Dark Wizards... (A new story set during the time of Harry Potter, set between Years 2-7 and after. Relatively Canon-compliant at first, but the story will diverge from canon, either slightly or in a major way, as it continues. In-Progress)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN, now on AO3 as well! Hope you enjoy!

**Prologue: First Year**

_Mr. S. Warren._

_The Attic, Sunny Cove Cottage_

_Falmouth, Cornwall_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr S. Warren,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Sihir looked up at the shop's sign, the letters golden, but peeling somewhat. _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ One of the more important stops a new student would make when purchasing their school supplies for their First Year at Hogwarts.

His mother, Naima, sighed. "Ollivanders. This brings me back…" She looked down at her son. "Want me to go in with you?" When Sihir shook his head, she smiled. "Meet me at Florian's when you're done, we'll grab some ice-cream." She kissed him on the head, and wandered off.

As Sihir entered the shop, another customer was exiting, a curly-haired boy escorted by a witch, and two adults dressed in muggle clothes. As Sihir held the door open, he noticed the boy was holding a wand in his hand, an amazed expression on his face. "So, I would use this to do magic, then?" the boy asked the witch, who nodded.

"Wands are important tools for channelling your magic. Of course, some who are more experienced might be able to cast spells wandlessly," she explained as she made her way out of the shop. "Thank you," she said, nodding at Sihir. "New student?"

"Y-yes… uh, Sihir Warren. Professor..?"

"McGonagall. I'll be your Transfiguration Teacher." She smiled. "I look forward to seeing you in class, Mr. Warren." She continued on her way, leading the Muggles back into the street.

"H-hello," the curly-haired boy said as he passed Sihir. "I'm Justin, Finch-Fletchley."

"Hey, I'm Sihir Warren. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.

The muggle-born took it, smiling. "Same to you. Maybe I'll see you on the Express!"

Sihir smiled back. "Maybe! See you then." The four made their way, the parents nodding politely at Sihir. Sihir entered the shop. It was small, made even smaller by the stacks and stacks of boxes reaching up to the ceiling.

Ollivander, himself, was an old man, studying Sihir with pale eyes as he entered the shop. "Mr. Warren, I take it?"

Sihir was taken aback. He couldn't have heard him from outside, could he? "How did you know?"

Ollivander smiled. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. That includes your mother, Mr. Warren." He took a step towards Sihir, studying him closer. "Eleven and a half inches, phoenix feather, quite fine, made of willow. I was of the thought she would make a talented healer."

Sihir smiled nervously under his scrutiny. "She works at St. Mungo's."

"Just so! Wand arm?" Sihir held out his right arm, and Ollivander went to work measuring Sihir's various limbs and body parts. After a while the measuring tape began working on its own as Ollivander went searching through the boxes. "Based on those… Try this one." He returned with a few boxes from the stacks, and handed Sihir one. "Twelve inches, Holly and Unicorn Hair. Bendy."

Excitement coursed through Sihir as he pulled the wand from the box, but Sihir barely waved it at all before it was snatched from him. "No, no, no, maybe not that one… how about this? Fourteen inches, Yew and Dragon Heartstring." This one, too, was barely attempted before being taken. "No, no… hmm…" He turned and walked into the back of the shop, muttering to himself.

"Mr. Ollivander, sir?" Sihir called. "How long does this usually take?" Wands were not a simple purchase, it seemed.

"Oh, depends," the wandmaker said, returning with more boxes. "The wand must be right for the witch or wizard that wields it, and the wizard or witch must be right for the wand!" The two went through another dozen or so wands, of varying combinations. What felt like his thirtieth attempted wand was given to Sihir. Sihir felt a warmth from the wood, a comforting warmth he felt spreading from his fingers throughout his whole body. A small smile formed on his face as he gave the wand a wave. Golden sparks flew from the end, showering the wand-maker's shop in light.

Ollivander smiled jovially, and turned to straighten out some of the boxes they'd been pulling from the shelves. "Aha! You see? The perfect wand. Willow, eight inches, and a unicorn hair. Quite short, as far as most wands go…" He paused, looking down at the boy. "Willow wands tend to have healing properties."

Sihir brightened. "Is that why you thought my mother would be a healer?"

Ollivander's silvery eyes twinkled. "Exactly, young man."

* * *

"Nervous for tomorrow?" Sihir and his mother were eating dinner, the night before he would leave for Hogwarts. A day he'd been looking forward to, and dreading.

Sihir shrugged, a somewhat blank expression on his face. "I don't know."

She smiled. "I was nervous when I first stepped onto that platform all those years ago. As soon as I found a compartment and sat down, I was fine. I made new friends, and we were so excited! You'll know the Campbells from Tinworth, so not everyone will be a complete stranger. I mean, they're a few years above you, but…" She frowned, noticing her son's expression hadn't changed. "Not eating?"

Sihir shrugged again. "I guess I am a bit scared." He moved some greens around his plate. "D'you… D'you think anyone will know?"

Naima sighed. She knew what was bothering him. "No, I don't think so. You have my name, anyway, not… his." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You have nothing to worry about. He's in _Azkaban_. He's not going _anywhere_. _He can't hurt anyone ever again_."

* * *

Sihir's mother was right. The nervousness Sihir experienced was vanishing by the time Sihir sat down in an empty compartment. Marcus Campbell, his friend from Tinworth, had already found a compartment with his Third Year friends in Hufflepuff, but it was good to see a familiar face.

"Sihir, right?" He jumped at the sound of his name, but at the door was the curly-haired boy from Ollivanders. Students were milling about behind him, meeting with friends and loading their trunks and other baggage.

"Yes, Justin?" The boy nodded. "Would you like to join me?"

Justin smiled, entering the compartment. Sihir helped him with his trunk, and they both sat down. "Thanks. I was hoping I'd see you again."

Sihir smiled back. "Well, glad to have you. I've never actually met a muggle before. Well, outside of when we go to the market or the mosque, but…"

Justin's eyebrow raised slightly. "Never met one?"

"Well, we tend to avoid muggles when we can. Did Professor McGonagall tell you about the Statute?"

Justin nodded. "I see. So, no interaction with any muggles, ever?"

Sihir shrugged. "I mean, we buy things. Halal market for food. It's easier to wear muggle clothes out and about, so we buy clothes in town." He paused. "But as I said, we tend to avoid muggles when we can. Our house is warded from muggles, actually. They can't find it or approach it."

"Expecting anyone else?" A new voice interrupted, belonging to a stout boy with dirty-blonde hair.

Sihir smiled. "No, join us!"

After getting situated, the newcomer extended a hand. "Ernest Macmillan, very pleased to meet you both."

Sihir recognised the name, a prestigious pureblooded family. "Sihir Warren. Wasson?" Sihir shook his hand.

"Justin, Finch-Fletchley," Justin greeted.

"So, either you have any preference on the Sorting? My family has been in that House for at least nine generations, so I'm hoping for that."

"Hufflepuff?" Justin asked, confused.

"It's one of the four Houses at Hogwarts." Sihir explained.

"Ah, a Muggle-born, then?" Ernie smiled when Justin nodded. "It's fascinating to think, you had no idea about magic being real until quite recently."

Justin smiled. "I know, it's all still very strange. We thought Professor McGonagall was insane when she explained it to us, but turned our teapot into a gerbil. It was quite a shock for my parents."

Sihir chuckled. "I'm sure."

A horn sounded, and the three felt the train's gears chugging.

"Here we go!" Ernie and Sihir looked out the window, seeing the station zip past, and the countryside approaching.

Justin remained seated. "This isn't some weird, long dream then? We're actually going to learn magic?"

Ernie looked back at him, grinning. "That we are, friend, that we are!"

* * *

As the train made its way north, Sihir and Ernie explained the Houses to Justin. "Well, there are four houses that students are sorted into when they arrive. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," Ernie began.

Sihir nodded. "Gryffindor is where a lot of adventurer types come from. Chivalrous, brave, et cetera. People say they are more brawny than brainy." Ernie chuckled at that. "Some of the best Quidditch players in Britain have been in Gryffindor, though the actual team hasn't won the Cup in years."

Ernie shrugged. "You can't win them all, I guess."

Justin seemed puzzled. "Quidditch? What is that?"

Sihir grinned. "That's right, you don't know! Quidditch is basically… um, I think football is kind of similar, I'm not sure. It's played on broomsticks in the air, and a few diff-"

"Wait… Broomsticks? You're pulling my leg, right?"

Ernie laughed. "No, flying broomsticks are real."

Justin just stared. "Let's get back to the houses…"

Ernie shot a sideways glance at Sihir, grinning. "Hufflepuff is a little harder to describe. Very fair, hard workers. Impartial. They usually don't get involved in house rivalries, they're a bit more down-to-earth-"

Sihir laughed, interrupting. "'Impartial, hardworking, fair.' Are you at least _trying_ to be humble?"

Ernie grinned. "Shut up."

"Ravenclaw sounds cool."

Sihir chuckled. "Yeah, they do have a cool name, don't they? That's the House I'm hoping for. Their Founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, favored studiousness in her charges. I think I might have a good chance, I like to study history in my spare time anyway, so…"

"History? I hear it's one of the worst subjects at Hogwarts."

"I hear that too…"

"And the last one… Slytherin?"

Sihir grimaced. "That one has kind of a… dark reputation. It was You-Know-Who's House, and most of his followers. Dark wizards."

Justin nodded, more solemnly, though had a puzzled expression. "You-Know-Who?"

Sihir smiled a little. "We don't like to use his name, it just sounds evil, like a dirty word. Remember, this is a fellow that terrorized the wizarding world for a decade. You-Know-Who is… Vol… sorry." Sihir stood, looking through his bag. He produced a piece of paper, and wrote down the name. "I don't want to say it. Here, have a geek." He handed the piece of paper to Justin.

Justin read the name out loud. "Voldemort."

Sihir flinched, sucking in his breath involuntarily.

Justin's face flushed slightly. "Sorry." Sihir waved the apology off.

Ernie coughed. "Not all Slytherins are bad, though. Merlin was a Slytherin."

Sihir looked up. "Merlin?"

Ernie nodded, smiling. "Not the King Arthur one, there was another, a descendant of his. _Famously_ pro-muggle." Sihir was surprised. "And then there's Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Office."

"Auror?" Justin asked.

"Dark wizard catcher."

They continued to give Justin an introduction to the Wizarding World, answering his questions and asking about the Muggle world. They eventually were alerted that they would be arriving soon, and they changed into their robes. The wheels screeched as the train slowed down, and the three looked out the window. A station came into view. A large man, easily nine feet tall, stood on the platform, lantern in hand.

The students filed out of the train, many of them heading towards the path, where a few horseless carriages waited. Sihir made to follow them.

"Firs' years, this way! Don' be shy!" He recognized the man's accent, definitely from the West Country like Sihir, if not Cornwall specifically. Sihir didn't sound much different when his accent came out. The large man on the platform was leading the new students towards the lake.

The crowd of first years, led by the large man they learned was named Hagrid, reached the lake, where boats were waiting. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, referring to the fleet docked on the shore waiting for them. "No need t'row, the boats're enchan'ed."

Sihir climbed into a boat with Justin and Ernie, where they were joined by a girl, a bit skinny and red-haired with blue-green eyes.

"Hello, I'm Aoibheann Nic Duibh," she greeted quietly, her Irish accent thick.

Sihir greeted her back, along with Ernie and Justin, but they didn't talk much as the boats started to move, as the first years soon got their first view of the castle, an impressive sight to behold. Oohs and ahs came from all around.

The journey by boat took about a half-hour. Soon they docked, and were led by Hagrid to the front door of the castle. "Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" He raised a huge fist in the air and knocked three times on the door.

They were greeted at the door by Professor McGonagall herself, looking sternly down at all the First Years.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She bade them all follow her into the Entrance Hall, and the students followed her to a smaller chamber off the hall, near the Great Hall where the rest of the school was gathered.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She paused, looking over the students, as if weeding out any imperfections in their appearances. "I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.

Most of the First Years looked terrified and remained silent. The few that talked amongst themselves were under the impression that some sort of test would be conducted. A frizzy-haired girl near Sihir was rattling off a list of spells she'd been practicing on the train, wondering which ones she'd need.

Sihir's mother hadn't told him anything of the Sorting, saying it was a tradition to keep the First Years wondering what was to come. Marcus Campbell hadn't said anything either, he only grinned and said "you'll see!"

Sihir's thoughts were interrupted by a few gasps. About twenty ghosts had just floated into the room through the back wall, arguing amongst themselves and taking little notice of the First Years. One passed right through Sihir, chilling him terribly. A rather fat one was dressed as a monk, and was arguing with another dressed in a ruff and tights. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?" The ghost paused, suddenly noticing the living occupants of the chamber.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded, most were too scared to make any answer. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," said the Friar. "My old house, you know." Sihir noticed Ernie Macmillan out of the corner of his eye, smiling nervously at the Friar.

"Move along now," interrupted McGonagall, whose return went unnoticed. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

* * *

The First Years followed Professor McGonagall through the Great Hall, which took them between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. All eyes were on them, watching them walk down the aisle. A few seated amongst the students were ghosts, but many more simply floated above to watch the First Years.

McGonagall produced a four-legged stool and set it down. Upon the stool she set an old and battered hat. There was silence as everyone in the hall, teachers included, stared at it. The Hat suddenly sprang to life, a rip in the brim forming a mouth, and it sang:

_"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all…"_

The Hat went on to sing about the history of the sorting ceremony, and the qualities and virtues each of the Founders wanted in their students. When the song ended, the students and faculty applauded. McGonagall held up a piece of paper. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

She turned her attention to a list of names in her hand. "Abbott, Hannah!" A blonde girl moved to the front and sat on the stool, her face betraying her nervousness. Sihir sympathised, as he disliked going first as well. Luckily for him, his name began with a W. McGonagall placed the hat on her head. "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Great Hall erupted in cheers, mostly from the Hufflepuff table, but around the Hall the Houses applauded politely.

"Brown, Lavender!" This girl was sorted into Gryffindor. The Slytherin table was noticeably absent in the applause.

"Crabbe, Vincent!" Crabbe, who looked somewhat thuggish, was sorted into Slytherin. The Gryffindor table was absent applause, this time.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" The muggle-born student approached the stool and sat. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Justin grinned with approval down at Sihir, and went to join his House.

"Granger, Hermione!" The frizzy-haired girl walked up to the stool. She was sorted into Gryffindor, much to her delight.

"Malfoy, Draco!" The hat barely touched his head before the hat sent him to Slytherin. He seemed pleased.

"Nic Duibh, Aoibheann!" The quiet girl from the boat strode up to the stool, and Sihir noticed some of the faculty at the head table whispering discreetly, or at least attempting to. "SLYTHERIN!" Aoibheann's face was neutral as she made her way to the Slytherin table.

"Patil, Padma!" An Indian girl walked forward slowly, and sat on the stool. A few seconds passed. "RAVENCLAW!" She smiled, and walked excitedly to join her House.

"Patil, Parvati!" Parvati surprised Sihir, and he was sure many others, by being sorted into Gryffindor, and not joining her twin.

"Potter, Harry!" A collective gasp found its way through the room, and murmuring not dissimilar to what the First Years were saying earlier. The Boy Who Lived walked slowly to the stool, and sat down. A full minute passed. "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry seemed pleased, and sighed with relief. The Gryffindor table was noticeably more excited than any name previously.

"Longbottom, Neville!" Sihir went pale. Longbottom? "GRYFFINDOR!" _I go by Warren, not Mostafa, so he won't know_ … Sihir looked at the rest of the first years left. Not many. A red-headed boy was looking around too, and shot Sihir a nervous grin and a shrug.

"Warren, Sihir!" Sihir hesitated, took a step forward, and tripped over the steps to the dais. A few people along the benches chuckled, quickly ended with a stern look from McGonagall. Sihir quickly sat down on the stool. The hat was placed on his head.

_"Now this is interesting..!"_

Sihir was shocked. _Are you in my head?_

 _"Yes, I'm in your head. And on it. Not a bad mind at all, reminds me of that Granger girl I Sorted a few minutes ago. Could be a solid case for Ravenclaw. You also know that it's good to have friends in high places. Interesting… you want to be remembered. For something better than your… family history."_ Sihir's fists clenched in his lap. _"Surprised to see Longbottom, were you? What your father did to his parents…"_

Sihir's initial shock gave way to fury. _He is NOT my father._

_"Of course he is. I can understand not taking his last name, however. I sorted Naima Warren thirty years ago, I knew how she'd turn out. Imperioused by a Heka fanatic, forced to have his child. She turned out well, considering. She healed from all that tragedy and became a healer herself. But you… Ambitious. You want ambition? I'll give you ambition. Ravenclaw isn't for you. You won't be remembered as a Ravenclaw. You're going to be respectability back to the House that housed the likes of Merlin. You want to be remembered, young man? You'll be remembered as 'Sihir Of-'"_

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat said the last word aloud to the Great Hall, and three tables erupted in applause. Sihir set his mouth in a grim line, nodded, and walked off to join his House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is just a Prologue, the rest of the story will be Year 2 and onward.


	2. Second Year: Books

**Second Year: Books**

* * *

_"You know, I don't think there ever was a 'quiet year' when it came to Hogwarts. There was always something happening involving our favorite bespectacled sensation." River laughed on the other end of the line. "Quirrell trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, the Triwizard Tournament, and now actual Death Eaters as our professors? No, nothing quiet at all. As far as which year was the quietest for me?"_

_"Sure, go ahead."_

_"First Year, hands down. I was still figuring out how to be a Hogwarts student, especially as a Slytherin with… unwanted ties to the old Death Eaters. A few of the others were PROUD of that rubbish." He paused. "The most interesting thing that happened was the beginning of an intellectual rivalry between a certain muggle-born wunderkind and myself. If she's listening, she knows who she is. Stay safe out there._

_"Second year is where school started to get interesting for me. That's the year lines were being drawn in the sand. That said, the year started off innocently enough…"_

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

* * *

Naima Warren looked over Sihir's new supply list. Cauldrons, gloves, and most of the core subject books would last through the Fifth year, most lists afterward usually only had a few new books. This list was a bit longer, however, than she remembered from her own Second year. "Your new Defense professor wants all of these Gilderoy Lockheart books!"

"Oh?" Sihir peeked at the list. "You have those ones, right?"

"Yes, would you want to borrow them? No need to get brand-new books if we have them here. Otherwise, this list is well over thirty galleons!"

Sihir nodded. "Makes sense. Now all I have to get is the _Standard Book, Volume Two_."

"I wonder who the new professor is. Smart of them to assign Lockheart's books, he's done some brilliant things!" Naima didn't notice her son rolling his eyes. "You know, he's signing his new Autobiography on Wednesday… Oh, I have to work. You think you could get a copy signed for me? You could get all your shopping done that day, too!"

Sihir straightened up. They'd been talking about Sihir possibly going to Diagon Alley on his own. "Sure, I can do that."

"You are absolutely sure you can handle Diagon Alley by yourself?"

Sihir nodded excitedly.

Naima ruffled his hair. "You're able to handle your shopping on your own, you're smart about purchases, responsible… you're really growing up, Sihir. I'm proud of you, you know that, right?"

Sihir edged out of reach, grinning. "Come on, mum, stop!"

Naima smiled, but was frowning on her way to St. Mungo's. _Considering the things he knows, he's well-adjusted. I couldn't hold anything back, he needed to know what his father did, who the Death Eaters were. I'm just glad he's taking after me._

* * *

"Alright, who is next? Ah…" Sihir stepped forward in the line, _Magical Me_ in hand. "And who, young man, am I making this out to?" Gilderoy Lockheart, bedecked in eye-catching blue robes, flashed a smile at the young wizard.

"My mother, Naima Warren." Sihir held out the book.

"N-A-I-M-A?" Sihir nodded. "Right." Gilderoy signed the book, and handed it back to Sihir, winking. "Here you are." He turned his attention down the line. "And who is next?"

Sihir was glad to be out of the line, though he practically had to shove through the small bookshop on the way out.

"Hey, Sihir!" A voice called him from above. Sihir turned to find a fellow Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, leaning over the bannister, smiling down at him. Sihir waved up at him, and made his way to the stairs. Despite Sihir's initial impression of Draco, he found himself enjoying his friendship. Draco had helped Sihir during their initial flying lessons, after Harry had been taken away by McGonagall. Sihir repaid him by helping him on his History of Magic assignments (he had, in fact, been helping quite a few of the Slytherins on their History of Magic assignments, most of whom weren't as interested in history as Sihir.)

He met Draco by the window. "Draco!" He settled against the bannister. "Wasson?"

Draco nodded. "All right?" Sihir nodded back. Draco spotted _Magical Me_ in Sihir's arm, and grinned. "Getting that signed?"

Sihir shrugged. "My mother wanted me to get it signed for her while she's stuck at St. Mungo's."

"Ah…" Draco said, turning his attention back to the crowd below. "Is she ill, or..?"

Sihir looked at Draco, amused. "She works there. She's a healer."

Draco nodded. "Oh, that's good." He turned to Sihir, noticing his smirk. He put his hands up. "Hey, sorry. Most of my friends' families are independently wealthy."

Sihir laughed at that. "It's fine. It's not like I'm poor, by the way," he added. "Mum just doesn't like…" He wanted to say "sitting around all day, snobbing it up," but decided against it. "She doesn't want to just sit around, she likes to keep busy."

Draco smiled. "Right, your family has quite a bit of Cleansweep money."

"Exactly."

Draco coughed suddenly. "Are those the Weasleys coming in?"

Sihir looked down. Indeed, the Weasley family was entering the shop. He spotted the twins (though he couldn't tell which was which,) Mrs. Weasley, Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect, and a girl who must have been Mrs. Weasley's daughter. She must be starting school this year. "That's them. You can't mistake that hair, can you?"

Draco chuckled, then frowned. "That whole family is a disgrace. Blood Traitors."

Mr. Weasley had just followed the rest of his family inside, chattering away excitedly with a couple. "...both are dentists, correct? I understand that many muggles are afraid of you..." These people stood out, not wearing robes like most of the shop patrons. Hermione's parents, probably.

"Just that, right there. Arthur Weasley, consorting with muggles." Draco shook his head.

The subject of blood treachery was a common one in the conversations held by the Slytherins of Sihir's year. As always, Sihir was silent, uncomfortable, not sharing the supremacist views of most of his House. A few of his friends at school were muggle-born. Justin sat with him on his first trip on the Express. He had a friendly academic rivalry with Hermione Granger (she had beaten him on the final exams, in all classes but History of Magic.) What did Draco truly think about Sihir, considering that fact?

"And it gets worse…" Draco said, interrupting Sihir's thoughts. The trio of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger had just walked into the shop, joining the Weasley family and Hermione's parents. "Potter…" This was said with disgust. He turned to look at Sihir, expectantly. "Well?"

Sihir shrugged. "What?"

"Well, don't you hate Potter as much as I do?"

"I'm more indifferent than anything."

"What do you mean, 'indifferent?'" Draco sneered. "They're the reason we lost the House Cup a few months ago, or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, giss on. I'm not one of your bleddy minions, Malfoy, don't talk down to me like an idiot." Sihir stared at Draco, who looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Yes, they won the Cup, but it was a fluke. They won all those points at the end of the year because of what happened with Quirrell. That's not going to happen again." Sihir pointed at Draco. "You need to stop worrying about him, focus on your studies. We are in school, remember?"

Draco scowled, then nodded. "That's a Ravenclaw sentiment if I've ever heard one."

Sihir smiled. "I get it from my mother."

"And what do you get from your father?"

Sihir's smile faded, and he practically felt the blood drain from his face. "Excuse me?" He asked, shakily.

Draco smiled. "My father told me about your father. Don't worry, though, I understand the need to keep that secret."

Draco turned his attention below, as Lockheart was making an announcement. Sihir continued to stare at him, his mind racing, afraid of how much Draco might know about Hanif. Draco may or may not know how much leverage he had over Sihir. If word got out that Sihir's father was a Death Eater, and currently in Azkaban... (and if Neville Longbottom of all people found out…)

"Did you hear that?"

Sihir jumped. "Huh- what?"

"Lockheart just said that he's our new Defence professor. Weren't you listening?"

He doesn't have anything better to do, famous author that he is? "Oh, 'diddy? I was… lost in thought for a moment there. Sorry."

Draco grinned. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." Draco made for the stairs.

Sihir raised his eyebrows, watching Draco make his way to the ground floor. He wondered who else might know. Theodore? Maybe Draco's minions, Crabbe and Goyle? Quite a few of the old Death Eaters had claimed to be under the Imperius Curse during the War, including Draco's father. Sihir's father, however, went to Azkaban with a smile on his face for what he did to the Longbottoms.

Sihir's fist clenched in his hand as his thoughts drifted to his father.

* * *

Few foreign wizards took to the Death Eaters, and Hanif Mostafa was one of them. The Mostafa family was one of the more respected families in Egypt, with a long recorded history stretching back to the time of Alexander. They were members of the Heka-Kemet cult, the descendants of the old priesthood of the Pharaohs, though they were long gone. Magical Egypt was split mostly along religious lines, rather than blood purity, though most Heka Kemet followers would be considered pureblood. Fanatics looked down on the Muslim magical community, viewing them as intruders into the Magical Egyptian community.

While most of the Mostafa Family were accepting of the Muslims, Hanif was not. He'd heard about the Death Eater's goals, and found possible allies in the domination of the usually muggle-born Muslims of his own country. You-Know-Who himself had expressed interest in the Heka Kemetic teachings, one of the truly magical religions, which allowed Hanif to be one of the select few in the inner circle. After the night You-Know-Who was defeated, Hanif and four other Death Eaters kidnapped Neville Longbottom's parents and tortured them.

The attack on the Longbottoms had been detailed in the book _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , shortly after the chapter detailing You-Know-Who's downfall, as one of the most heinous and most horrible crimes to be committed in the modern wizarding world. The assailants, Hanif Mostafa, Bartemius Crouch Jr, and three of the Lestranges (Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan) were all sentenced to life imprisonment in the wizarding prison Azkaban.

* * *

Sihir shook his head, banishing the thoughts. _Just keep it quiet, you don't need anyone else knowing about this._

Harry Potter had escaped the crowd applauding Gilderoy Lockheart, over by where the younger Weasley girl was standing, just under Sihir. He tipped his books into her cauldron. Draco strode over to confront him, and Harry turned, a scowl already present on his face. Sihir couldn't hear what they were saying, but thought it best. He didn't want to get in the middle of their feud.

Harry's friends, Ron and Hermione, joined them. Sihir smiled when he saw Hermione. They started becoming friendly after she was the first to master the Levitation charm. He'd have to go and say hello to her.

He made his way downstairs as Ron's face flushed scarlet, and moved towards Draco. Harry and Hermione held him back.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley made his way over with the twins, struggling against the crowd. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well… Arthur Weasley." Sihir turned to find Draco standing next to a man wearing the same sneer on his face. Sihir froze as he recognized Draco's father, though he paid Sihir no mind.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward. "Busy time at the Ministry, I hear, all those raids…" He said, smirking. "I hope they're paying you overtime?" Sihir moved aside as Mr. Malfoy strode to the Weasley girl, taking a shabby, worn book out of her cauldron, well out of place amongst the quality new Lockheart books. "Obviously not…" He paused, looking over the Weasleys. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Sihir saw Mr. Weasley step forward slowly. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy." He said, calm but cold.

Malfoy Senior spied Hermione's parents, watching the confrontation. "Clearly!" He said, with disdain. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower..."

Mr. Weasley threw himself at Draco's father, knocking him into a nearby bookshelf. The crowd began to stampede, amid the punches and harsh words thrown around by the two. Sihir himself was knocked to the floor, attempting to break up Ron and Draco, as they threw themselves at each other again.

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up..!" The large groundskeeper from Hogwarts, Hagrid, pulled Draco and Ron's fathers off of each other. Mr. Weasley was tense, readying himself for another punch, and Mr. Malfoy shoved the younger Weasley's book back into her cauldron.

"Here, girl, take your book," he spat, venom in his voice. "It's the best your father can give you..!" He pushed Hagrid's arm aside, and beckoned to Draco to follow him out of the shop. Draco spotted Sihir on the floor and hesitated before nodding goodbye and following his father.

As Hagrid was straightening Mr. Weasley out, Hermione approached Sihir. "Are you alright, Sihir?" Hermione helped him up.

Sihir rubbed his nose. "I think I was hit in the face by _Fantastic Beasts_ , but I'm fine, considering." He grinned, and she chuckled.

"Kids, come on! Back to the Burrow!" The Weasleys and the Grangers were following Hagrid's lead to the door.

"We've got to go." Hermione said, looking back at her friends. Sihir noticed Ron giving him a dark look. Harry's was more distrustful. "Don't mind them."

"I get it, I'm a Slytherin." Sihir waved it off. He nodded at the two. "We should probably head out, that assistant isn't looking happy." He walked her to the door, and they joined Ron and Harry outside. "I've got a few stops left to make, anyway. The Daily Prophet Office, Quality Quidditch-"

"Quality Quidditch?" Harry asked. "You're not joining the team, are you?"

Sihir grinned at him. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm just getting a new Falcons banner for my dorm."

"Oh, come on. The Falcons?" Ron rolled his eyes. "You like the Falcons? They're just Beaters! And Beaters pretending to be Chasers," he began counting on his fingers. "...and a Beater pretending to be a Seeker, and..."

"Hey, don't talk about the Falcons, you _tuss_." Sihir said. Hermione watched the exchange, bewildered. Harry listened intently. "What's your team, then?"

Ron paused. "Chudley Cannons," he said, suddenly defensive.

Sihir scoffed. "Ninth place, soon to be last? Yeah, please don't embarrass yourself! The last time they won League was literally a century ago." The two bickered back and forth about the teams all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, where the group parted ways with Sihir more amicably than he thought they would.

* * *

Platform 9 didn't have the same chaotic feeling Sihir remembered from his First year. In fact, he was more excited than anything. He saw some familiar faces: Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini from his own house. Padma Patil, from Ravenclaw, and her twin sister Parvati from Gryffindor.

Aoibheann, another Slytherin, was there too, talking with what looked to be her parents, who looked uncomfortable being there. They were strangely dressed. Aoibheann herself was in her Hogwarts robes already, but her parents stood out. Not muggle clothing, but the style of the robes seemed ancient, out of place among the robes other witches and wizards wore. Sihir made a note of that, a question for later.

"You don't seem as nervous as last year!" Naima Warren smiled down at her son.

Sihir smiled back. "No, I'm excited."

"You know, you get to choose your Third Year electives this year." She elbowed him playfully. "It's never too early to start thinking about that. Just don't choose Divination, it's haraam."

"Sihir!" Sihir turned, and saw Hermione Granger coming his way, her parents following.

"Hermione!" Sihir turned to his mother. "Mum, this is Hermione. I've told you about her."

"Ah, yes! The genius, right?" Hermione and Sihir blushed as Hermione shook hands with Naima.

"Mum, Dad, this is Sihir and Ms. Warren."

"Pleasure to meet you, young man!" Said Hermione's father, shaking Sihir's hand. "Ms. Warren!"

"Call me Naima, please!" Said Sihir's mother, shaking the Grangers' hands.

"I'm Jean, and this is Thomas."

"Well, I think you two should go and find some seats? It's good to find a compartment early, they fill up fast." Naima hugged her son. "Have a good Second year, Sihir."

"I will!" Sihir set off to search for an empty compartment, joined by Hermione.

"It was nice meeting your mum, Sihir." She grinned at him as they made their way across the platform. "Did you really call me a genius?" She laughed as Sihir blushed in response. "What does she do, again?" Hermione asked, stepping onto the train.

"She's a Healer, actually. You said your parents are doctors, right?" Sihir asked, looking into the compartments as they traversed the Express.

"Dentists, actually. Doctors for teeth." She looked away from Sihir, as if hiding her own teeth, and feigned looking for a compartment.

"Oh, here we go! Want to sit together?" They had finally reached an empty compartment.

Hermione hesitated. "Do you mind if Harry and Ron join us?" Hermione asked, nervously. "I told them to find me on the Express."

"Hey, that's fine. Ron and I can continue our discussion of why the Cannons are terrible." Sihir quipped.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Ron actually enjoyed talking Quidditch with you, actually. I was surprised, I thought he didn't like you too much."

"Well, I was one of the people rubbing the 150-point loss in your face a few months ago." He laughed as he sat down across from her. "You three pulled out a win in the end, though, so more power to you."

Hermione shrugged. "Either way, I'm glad to see them warming up to you." She looked out the window. "What time do you have?"

Sihir checked his watch. "10:58"

"They're so late! Where are they..?" Hermione's worries were soon alleviated, however, as she spotted a crowd of redheads rush through the platform. "Oh, I see the twins, there. Harry and Ron shouldn't be far behind!" She sat back, relaxed. "I wonder what held them up?"

"Harry is staying with the Weasleys? I heard he lived with muggle relatives after the... you know." He pointed at his own scarless forehead.

"Usually, but they're horrid people. Did you hear..?"

The train took off as Hermione explained Harry's situation with the Dursleys.

"...had to take Mr. Weasley's flying car to rescue him!"

Sihir's eyes were wide. "The Dursleys sound…" He shook his head. "I don't… They just sound cruel. Evil, even!"

"Oh, Percy!" She stood suddenly and leaned out of the carriage. The tall, redheaded Gryffindor Prefect stopped as Hermione called his name, smiling at her, though looking a bit distracted. He walked back at a brisk pace.

"Oh, Hermione, good to see you." Looking into the compartment, he noticed Sihir sitting across from her. "Oh, you're… What's your name, again?"

"Sihir Warren, Second Year."

Percy snapped his fingers. "That's right, in Slytherin." He eyed Sihir with uncertainty as he turned his attention towards Hermione. "What's up, Hermione? I have to go… Prefect's meeting."

"I was just wondering where Ron was. He and Harry were supposed to join us."

"Ah, yes. We were a bit late coming in. I'm sure they were behind us." He turned to continue his way down the carriage. "They're probably getting the luggage sorted with Fred and George! I've got to go!"

Hermione sat back down, dissatisfied. "Where could they be?"

* * *

_"'Innocently enough?'"_

_"I mean, it's not like the Basilisk was released the day term started, was it?"_

_"True."_

_"There was still excitement. If anybody listening was subscribed to the Daily Prophet in September 1992, they might remember an Evening Prophet article about a flying automobile was spotted by a few muggles, flying through Britain." River burst out laughing. "I sat with Hermione Granger on the Hogwarts Express in our Second Year. We were expecting to be joined by Harry and Ron. Turns out it was them flying that car from London all the way to Scotland." Sihir paused as River's laughter died down. "Good gas mileage."_

_River let out another chuckle. "I can't believe I forgot about that."_

_"Not surprising, considering what happened later in the year."_

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998_


	3. Second Year: Mudblood

**Second Year: Mudblood**

* * *

_Dear Sihir,_

_I just wanted to wish you a good year! Keep up the good work, remember to keep practicing your Transfiguration. It was nice meeting your friend Hermione, and her parents. I was laughing on the way to work, you two were blushing so much when I said you called her a genius!_

_Love, Mum._

Sihir was embarrassed at the implication in his mother's letter. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione sat, her face hidden behind a book, a big mane of bushy hair peeking out. _I've never been really interested in anyone before, but… she is really smart and I'm kind of drawn to that… I don't know._ Sihir shook his head, turning his attention away from his growing interest in Hermione.

He picked up another envelope, this one from his Egyptian uncle, Hassan Mostafa. A former Quidditch star, he was now a referee working for the Internationals. He'd recently begun learning English to correspond with Sihir, and he was improving, though his writing was sometimes strange. It was clearer when he wrote in Arabic.

_Sihir,_

_Hope you are enjoy this message! I remember that you were not interested in making with the Quidditch team, but if you change your mind, know that I are send the Cleansweep program very well and know if your mom hates sending you to Nimbus!_

_Some international news: I chose to evaluate the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, and the responsibility of other judges was to plan the event (I think it's fair to conclude evaluating matches!)_

_Heka's favor,_

_Uncle Hassan_

Sihir smiled widely at his uncle's letter. Hassan Mostafa, _his_ uncle, was refereeing the World Cup in a few years. He might not have any interest in being a Quidditch player, but, like most of the wizarding world, he enjoyed watching it, discussing it, speculating on the season, et cetera.

"Bacon, Sihir?" Asked Daphne Greengrass, reaching for the plate between them.

Sihir shook his head. "No, thank you. No bacon, no ham, no pork. I can't eat anything made from pig." He grinned. "Jelly Slugs are out, too." He took a bite of toast.

"Wait, what's wrong with them?" She asked.

Sihir swallowed. "They are made with gelatin. Specifically, gelatin made from pigs."

"It's your religious diet thing, right?"

"Yep. Well, vegetable gelatin is alright. When there's jelly for afters at dinner, they serve a plate of halal jelly. You've tried it, Draco."

Draco made a face, remembering. He had tried it at dinner during last year's exams, and he did not enjoy it. "It tasted strange."

Sihir shrugged. "I like it."

" ** _RONALD WEASLEY!_** " A sudden shrieking was coming from the Gryffindor table, interrupting the chatter going on in the Hall. Nearly everyone was swiveling around on the benches, or sitting up to look at what was happening. A howler was shouting at Ron Weasley, who was petrified in his seat. " ** _-I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET HOLD OF YOU-_** " Mrs. Weasley's voice was so loud it was causing Sihir's plate to rattle slightly, a few tables away. " ** _-I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME-_** " Ron's face was almost the same shade as his hair. " ** _-AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!_** " The envelope burst into flames in Ron's hand, who had not moved an inch. Harry, sitting next to him, had his face in his hand. There was a silence that lasted for about four seconds.

Sitting across from Sihir, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle turned back around, shaking with laughter. "My. God. That was amazing..." Draco said, almost weeping.

Tracey Davis, usually one of the quietest of their year group, had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. "I almost feel bad for him!"

Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, made his way down the table, handing out class schedules to each Year group. "Second years!" He held up a small stack of schedules, and handed it down to Sihir. "Term schedules. Hand these out, Mr. Warren." He moved on to the Third Years.

Sihir handed them out to the surrounding Second Years. "Bulstrode, Crabbe, Davis. Goyle, Greengrass. Malfoy, Nic Duibh, Nott, Parkinson… here's mine… and Zabini." He looked over his schedule. History Of Magic first.

Draco cleared his throat. "Sihir, you mind if we..?"

Sihir grinned. "Yes, you can use my notes."

* * *

"Morning, everyone!" Professor Sprout, the jovial Head of Hufflepuff House. She looked the part of a Herbology expert, almost always having dirt in her clothes and fingernails. _Nothing wrong with that. She obviously enjoys what she does,_ Sihir thought to himself. She tapped an empty pot with her wand, getting the attention of the Second Year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. "Good morning, everyone!" She repeated.

"Good morning, Professor Sprout!" The class chorused.

"Welcome to Greenhouse _Three_ , Second Years! Now, gather 'round, everyone." The class sorted themselves around the long table in the center of the Greenhouse. "We'll be repotting _Mandrakes_ today. Now, who can tell me about the Mandrake?"

A few hands shot up around the greenhouse, most of them Ravenclaw. Sihir had his hand raised, as he could have easily answered the question. He'd learned quite a bit about antidotes from his mother, a Healer. Professor Sprout, however, called on Padma Patil. "The Mandrake is used for antidotes, to cure people who have been transfigured or cursed."

"Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw." The Ravenclaws shot approving smiles at Padma. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Sihir's hand shot up again. Professor Sprout gestured to him. "Let's hear from Slytherin?" She, like many of the professors at Hogwarts, was a fair grader, unlike Sihir's own Head of House, Professor Snape, who often favored those of Slytherin over the other Houses, especially Gryffindor. Sihir took full advantage of that fact without shame.

Sihir cleared his throat. "A Mandrake can kill you with its cry."

"Very good, take ten points." Theodore Nott elbowed Sihir, grinning. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She indicated the row of trays, each filled with purple-green tufts of leaves. "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs." Sihir was stuck with one of the pink and fluffy pairs, which were avoided by most of the students. "When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely covered._ When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up." She picked up a pair herself. "Right. _Earmuffs on!_ "

Professor Sprout showed the class how to properly repot the Mandrakes. Four basic steps: Firm grip, hard pull, new pot, cover with dirt. After the demonstration, the class was divided into groups of four to repot the Mandrakes.

* * *

"Okay, _how useless_ was that lesson?" Draco Malfoy asked, pausing on the grand staircase to catch his breath. The Slytherin Second Years had just escaped from the DADA classroom after the Pixies had gone berserk and ended their first lesson early.

"I mean, I already knew how to deal Cornish Pixies. _I'm_ Cornish." Sihir leaned against the stone railings as the staircase moved. "I think I learned less than the rest of you."

"Cornish?" Pansy Parkinson asked. "I thought you were, like, Indian or something." It was true, Sihir was significantly darker than your average Cornish person. Not to mention the taqiyah cap he wore on his head. The Slytherins chuckled.

The staircase came to a stop, and Sihir allowed his West Country accent come out. "Oh, well, I'm fer 'avin' a geek a' they books."

Draco and Theodore laughed even harder, and Pansy made a face. "God, you sound just like that oaf who lives on the grounds, stop it!"

Sihir set out on his way, grinning. " _Off ter 'ave a geek a' they books!_ " He repeated, grinning at Pansy. _Serves her right for not remembering where I'm from._

"The first day back?" Asked Daphne, hiding her smile as Pansy rolled her eyes and set out for the Dungeon.

"O' course!" Sihir called back over his shoulder, stepping off the stairs onto the First Floor as the rest continued on their way to the Common Room.

"Mind if I tag along? I need to run something by you, Sihir." Draco said, joining him.

"What's up?" Sihir dropped the exaggerated accent.

"I'm just remembering what we talked about at Flourish And Blotts." He grinned. "You were right, I need to be more... _productive_ with my rivalry with Potter, at least. I'm joining the Quidditch Team."

Sihir smiled, internally sighing a breath of relief. _He's not talking about Hanif, good._ "There you go! You're a talent on the broomstick, that's brilliant. Tryouts are next week, right?"

Draco grinned roguishly. "I won't have to worry about that. I've already made the team." Sihir raised an eyebrow, giving Draco a questioning look. Draco grinned further. "My father bought the entire team Nimbus 2001s."

Sihir scoffed, but grinned. "You absolute _tuss_."

Draco laughed. They were just outside the Library. "I know you don't approve, being such an _advocate_ of Cleansweep."

Sihir chuckled. "Well, I know you're a fair flyer. What position are you playing?"

Draco's eyes glinted with mischief. "Seeker."

* * *

"He called you a _what?!_ " Saturday afternoon found Sihir in the Library, a constant haunt for him. He was joined at half past two by Hermione Granger. Their rivalry wasn't one of antagonism, and they often studied together when she wasn't with Harry or Ron. The afternoon's silence was disturbed as she caught him up on what had occurred at the Quidditch Pitch.

" _Mudblood…_ " Hermione whispered, indicating over to Madam Pince, the librarian, who was staring daggers at Sihir after his outburst.

"Sorry, that's just…" Sihir was shocked. He knew that most of the Slytherins in his Year, if not most Slytherins in general, disapproved of Muggle-born students, but he hadn't heard of any using that particular slur until then. It was not often heard in polite conversation. "You don't hear of people using that word often. _I_ haven't heard it from any of them even in the Slytherin Dungeon."

"Really?" Hermione retrieved one of Lockheart's books, _Wanderings With Werewolves,_ from her bag.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." He flipped through his own book, _Magical Drafts And Potions._ Professor Snape had assigned a short essay on the making and possible uses of a Swelling Solution. The book listed the ingredients: 3 puffer-fish eyes, dried nettles, and a bat spleen. Sihir wrote them down in his notes.

He looked back at Hermione, thinking about something he'd read once. "The whole 'blood purity' thing wasn't widespread until after the International Statute of Secrecy was created." He told her.

Hermione looked at Sihir, eyebrows raised.

Sihir smiled. "Yeah, most people were pretty accepting of Muggle-born wizards and witches. In the 16th century we called them 'magbobs.'"

Hermione giggled at the word. "Magbobs?"

"Magbobs. One whose magic just bobs up out of nowhere." Sihir chuckled.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that, but was still giggling. "Is that a joke?"

"No, I'm serious." He sighed. "I'm sorry that it was one of _my_ Housemates that said that, I just want you to know that I prefer the term 'magbob' to 'mudblood.'"

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Sihir. It means a lot." _Maybe I do like her…_

* * *

When Draco had arrived in the Slytherin Dungeon the evening of the incident, he was greeted with silence. Some were staring at him in awe, most with shock, a few (significantly less than the other two) with outright disapproval. The silence was broken when Gemma Farley, now in her Sixth Year, dragged him off to a corner and chastised him for using that word.

What Sihir noticed most, however, was Tracey Davis' face as Draco entered. Pure, unadulterated, loathing. It left her face quickly as she noticed Sihir looking at her. He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, the look in her eyes making it clear she didn't want to talk about it. Sihir nodded, disappointed, but respectfully backing off. Slytherin drama was entertaining, and he liked being "in the know."

Afterwards, as if emboldened by the incident at the Quidditch Pitch, the word started to become more and more commonplace around the Slytherin Dungeon and their table in the Great Hall. This disturbed Sihir greatly. By Halloween, much to Sihir's relief, most people were instead talking about the upcoming Quidditch Match against Gryffindor, Draco's first.

Slytherins up and down the table were stopping by to offer the new Seeker advice. Terence Higgs was the Seeker last year. He left the team to concentrate on his NEWT studies, which were apparently exhaustive, as he approached the new Seeker with his face buried in a book, only breaking off his studies to relay some advice. "The only reason Gryffindor lost the Cup last year is because _Potter_ was in hospital. _Don't underestimate him._ " Draco nodded solemnly at this, and Terence stalked off, returning to his book.

As soon as Terence left, however, a sneer decorated Draco's face. "I can outfly Potter blindfolded!" He went on to describe his prowess on the broomstick, as Sihir and Blaise shared a sly look, wordlessly saying the same thing. _All talk._ None of their comments were said aloud, however. As they were taught on their first day, disagreements between Slytherins were to be settled in private, in public a united front must be presented. So Sihir and Blaise nodded along, and as the Halloween feast ended, the students left the Great Hall.

* * *

**_Sihir Warren's School Journal, Second Year_ **

**_November 1st, 1992._ **

_Looks like I was wrong, something crazy WILL happen involving Harry this year._

_Earlier tonight (technically, last night. It's after midnight now, we've been up talking about it for hours now) something strange, even by Hogwarts standards, happened. We were walking back from the Great Hall after the Halloween Feast ended, and we (a LARGE number of students, if not most of the school) ended up in a corridor on the Second Floor. How we got THERE, of all places, is still a mystery to me. Going the wrong way to get to the Dungeons. It seems… suspicious, at best._

_Enough about HOW we got there._

_There they were. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and my friend Hermione Granger standing near some writing on the wall: "_ **_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_ ** _. " The Chamber, obviously, referring to my House's founder, Salazar Slytherin, and his supposed secret room, or lair, or hall. Something like that._

_The writing mentions an heir, as well. That's part of what worries me. The Chamber is supposedly secreted away, and only the descendent of Slytherin can find and open it. That's the myth, at least. No one really holds much stock in it, and Hogwarts: A History only mentions it briefly._

_But we arrived, saw what was going on, and Draco Malfoy (a fellow Slytherin in my year) just HAD to go and shout the word. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" I had hoped that the use of that disgusting word had ceased. But no, now everyone in the Dungeon tonight was wondering who'd be first to go. Draco and a few others were listing off all the Muggle-born students they knew of before a few of the prefects put a stop to it._

_I thought an acquaintance of mine, Tracey, was going to hex him for a moment. I'd been noticing her discomfort with the usage of that word, "mudblood." She hasn't said anything about it, but I'm curious, and could only guess as to her reaction._

_Really, most of all, I'm worried that Hermione and my other friend Justin, both Muggle-born, might get hurt or even killed if this myth turns out to be true._

_I write this more to vent my frustrations and worries with what's going on, but maybe to have a fresh record of what might be going on. This might be useful in the future if they ever write books about this time period in Hogwarts' history, having a first-hand account of a Slytherin student from late-1992 until mid-1998, when I graduate. Who knows? Inshallah, it'll be useful._

* * *

"Warren, stay behind." It was a few days after the incident in the Corridor, and it was the last class of the day, Potions. The school was still abuzz with rumors about the Chamber being opened. Sihir wasn't sure what to believe, where the Chamber was concerned.

"In trouble, Sihir? What did you do?" Nott asked, grinning. Zabini sniggered.

"Giss on…" Sihir said, though he was nervous. He was sure he wasn't doing anything wrong, but even being held back after class made it seem so. He made his way to Professor Snape as the rest of the class filed out of the room. "Sir?"

Professor Snape stood out of his chair, regarding the young wizard with his familiar cold expression. "No need to be alarmed, Warren. Your work is admirable, as always," he said, dryly. Sihir sighed a breath of relief. "This isn't about your grades. The Headmaster wants to see you."


	4. Second Year: Myrtle

**Second Year: Myrtle**

* * *

**Previously:**

_"Warren, stay behind." It was a few days after the incident in the Corridor, and it was the last class of the day, Potions. The school was still abuzz with rumors about the Chamber being opened. Sihir wasn't sure what to believe, where the Chamber was concerned._

_"In trouble, Sihir? What did you do?" Nott asked, grinning. Zabini sniggered._

_"Giss on…" Sihir said, though he was nervous. He was sure he wasn't doing anything wrong, but even being held back after class made it seem so. He made his way to Professor Snape as the rest of the class filed out of the room. "Sir?"_

_Professor Snape stood out of his chair, regarding the young wizard with his familiar cold expression. "No need to be alarmed, Warren. Your work is admirable, as always," he said, dryly. Sihir sighed a breath of relief. "This isn't about your grades. The Headmaster wants to see you."_

Sihir's eyes widened. "Wait, Professor Dumbledore wants to… why?"

Professor Snape's eyebrow rose. "I'm sure he'll tell you when we get to his office. Now, pack your things and follow me."

Sihir packed his things quickly, and followed Professor Snape out of the Potions classroom and into the hallway. Nott and Zabini were waiting outside, watching Sihir follow the Professor with eyebrows raised. Sihir shrugged on his way past, trying to keep up with the long strides of his Head of House.

As they made their way down the halls and up the Grand Staircase, Sihir's mind raced. _Why does Professor Dumbledore want to see me?_ He thought about the Chamber being opened. _He can't suspect ME of all people, can he? There's no way! I'm pretty sure the Warrens aren't related to Slytherin in any way, and it's unlikely Slytherin had any ties to the Mostafas._ Back in the Founders' time the Mostafas still went by the Kemet names, not adopting the Mostafa name until the 18th Century, when Egypt, Muggle and Magic both, were under Ottoman rule.

Professor Snape stopped before a large and ugly stone gargoyle before a wall. He sighed. "Lemon drop…" He said, rolling his eyes as the gargoyle hopped aside. The wall behind it split, and a moving spiral staircase was revealed. Snape beckoned him in, and they made their way up the moving staircase. They came before a gleaming oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Professor Snape knocked on the door, which opened on its own. The two stepped inside.

The Headmaster's office was impressive. A large circular room, the walls lined with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom seemed to be sleeping. Dumbledore himself was seated behind an enormous desk, upon which were standing strange silver instruments that made weird noises and released little puffs of smoke. Sihir had no idea what their purpose was.

Professor Snape gestured down to his student. "Warren, Headmaster."

Sihir turned towards the Headmaster, regarding him for the first time up close. If anything would resemble the character Gandalf from the muggle _Lord Of The Rings_ books, he was the one. The only difference was his apparel. Much more flashy than a grey or white robe.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at Sihir, which soothed his worries immediately. He stood and walked over. "Thank you, Severus. Please, leave us." Professor Snape nodded, turned, and left the room.

A sudden cawing sound distracted Sihir. A magnificent red bird was perched by the desk, its eyes studying him. Sihir's eyes widened, only having ever seen pictures of the being. "Is that… a Phoenix?"

Dumbledore nodded, guiding Sihir towards it. "His name is Fawkes. Quite remarkable creatures, phoenixes. You know about their tears?"

"They can heal almost any wound." Sihir said, smiling. "My mother works at St. Mungo's, she teaches me a lot about healing magic."

Fawkes cawed. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Please, sit down, Mr. Warren." Sihir sat in the chair across from the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat down at his desk, and leaned forward. "Now, Mr. Warren, I'm sure you are wondering _why_ I requested your presence here." He paused, as if waiting for Sihir to guess.

"The Chamber?" Sihir asked, warily.

Dumbledore nodded. "In a way." Sihir opened his mouth, ready to defend himself with the counters leaping to his mind. _There's no way I could have opened it! Is this because I'm a Slytherin? My family has no connection, not even the Mostafas!_ Before he could speak, however, Dumbledore raised a hand, almost shushing his very thoughts. "I know what you are thinking, but I don't suspect you of opening the Chamber, Mr. Warren."

Sihir sat back, relieved. "You don't?"

"I don't," he reassured Sihir. "It _is,_ however _,_ related to what I wish to speak to you about." He clasped his hands together. "What do you know about the last time the Chamber was opened?"

Sihir frowned. _Where's this going?_ "The last time, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I was the Transfiguration Professor back then, I still remember. The school was almost closed."

Sihir gulped. "So, the Chamber _is_ real, then?" Dumbledore nodded again. "I thought it was a myth."

"Well, the Chamber itself doesn't concern this conversation. What does is the fact that last time, after many petrifications like what happened to Mrs. Norris, one person died. A Muggle-born student. Her name… Myrtle Warren."

Sihir's eyes widened "Warren?"

"Warren," Dumbledore confirmed.

Sihir was still confused. "But… you said she was Muggle-born?"

"You are wondering, 'how are we related,' are you not?" Sihir nodded. "Myrtle Warren had an older brother, Benjamin Warren."

Sihir's eyes widened. He knew where this was going, now. "Grandpa Ben! I know he's a muggle, but he never mentioned a sister…" Sihir paused. "They weren't _obliviated_ after Myrtle died, were they?" he asked, horrified.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. I infer that he only talked about it _rarely,_ if ever. The death of a sister…" He paused for a fraction of a second, but quickly continued, hoping Sihir didn't notice. "...can be a painful thing to discuss with anyone, even family. He, as you know, by _astounding_ coincidence, married a witch, Ayesha Bashir, now Ayesha Warren."

Sihir nodded. "This is all adding up."

"What might shock you is that Myrtle Warren is still here, in the School."

"Excuse me?" Now Sihir was confused again. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"She is a ghost, currently haunting the Girl's Bathroom on the Second Floor. Most avoid that particular bathroom, and refer to her as 'Moaning Myrtle.'"

Sihir had heard the name before, from Gemma Farley the year before (she warned the new Slytherin girls against using that particular bathroom.) "Moaning Myrtle is my… grandaunt? Great aunt?"

"She is your grandaunt, yes."

"This is a lot to take in, Professor." Sihir was silent for a time, his mind racing. Dumbledore simply studied the boy, allowing him time to gather his thoughts. A question popped into Sihir's head. "Why are you telling me this? Couldn't my mother have told me?"

"Well, if she hasn't by now, she likely doesn't know." He leaned forward. "Since the Chamber seems to be opening once again, I feel it's within your best interests to know what happened. Your mother wasn't informed by the School when she attended Hogwarts, as there wasn't any threat of the Chamber opening then."

He rose from the desk, and led Sihir to the door. "Seeing as the bathroom is essentially _abandoned_ by the students and faculty, I give you permission to enter if you would like to talk to Myrtle." He paused at the door. "I would recommend caution in telling people about this. The Faculty know, of course, but if, say, a Prefect were to ask why you are entering or exiting a Girl's Bathroom, explaining the situation would be understandable, but with your fellow students, be cautious about who you tell."

Sihir nodded solemnly. "I understand, Professor. What should I tell people, if they ask why I'm seeing you now? My friends will be curious about where I went."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I've been informed that you have a keen interest in History…"

* * *

Sihir stood outside of the Girl's Bathroom, still running the conversation with Dumbledore through his head. _I have a relative who's a ghost._

Sihir took a breath, and stepped forward, pushing open the door and entering the deserted bathroom.

He immediately heard sniffles and the sounds of someone crying. "Myrtle?" Sihir called out. The sobbing stopped.

Myrtle floated through a closed stall and stared at him. Besides the obvious ghostly nature, she looked like a third, maybe fourth year, as she was when she died. She wore a school uniform, though it was slightly different than his own, likely a different style from a few decades ago. She look positively glum, with limply-hanging hair and thick glasses framing her face.

"What do you want? Come to gawk at the dead girl?" She sniffled.

"What? No, I…" He paused, wondering how to begin. "Do you remember Ben Warren?"

Myrtle started. She obviously hadn't heard that name in a long time. "My… my brother…" She studied Sihir's face. "How do you know Ben?"

"He's my grandfather." Myrtle's eyes widened. "I'm Sihir Warren, your grandnephew." She was silent, still studying his face. He smiled weakly. "This is probably the last thing you expected, huh?"

Myrtle nodded slowly. "This is…" She began sobbing again, turning from him. "I'm sorry, this is just… like you said. Unexpected."

Sihir stepped forward, attempting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, she was a ghost, and it passed through her.

"Oh, sorry, I was just…"

She glared at him. "Oh, forgetting I'm dead already, are you?" she practically snarled.

Sihir stepped back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any-"

"It's alright…" She paused, floating away from him. "I'm just… sensitive about it." There was a long silence as the two wondered what to say. "How… How did you find out?"

"Well, you've heard about the Chamber opening again?" She stiffened, but nodded. "Professor Dumbledore told me I had a right to know, since it was you who… died, last time."

She sniffled at that. "My brother never showed any sign of being magical."

"He's not magical, no. Believe it or not, he married a witch. My grandmother, Ayesha."

She had a puzzled look on her face for a few seconds, but suddenly burst out laughing, the change to levity from her previous moroseness that startled Sihir. "He married a witch! What are the odds?!" She continued to laugh, and Sihir, getting over his shock, joined in. "Please, tell me everything!" The two spent some time talking about their family, how Ben met Ayesha Bashir, and married her. How the Bashirs, and now the Warrens, were involved in the Cleansweep Broomstick company.

"And what about your father? Who did Naima marry?"

Sihir went silent. Any joviality on Myrtle's face was gone. She knew she touched a nerve. "She didn't marry anyone." Myrtle stayed silent, allowing Sihir to continue. "My father was a Death Eater, from Egypt. He didn't like muslims, probably thought it'd be good sport to have complete control over a muslim witch while he was here working for You-Know-Who." He leaned against a stall, his face betraying his bitterness. "Not many people know. I go by the Warren name, of course, not Mostafa. Any crimes he committed can't be traced to me. Some of the other students who had Death Eater parents might know, though." _Malfoy definitely, Nott probably..._

"You're worried about being lumped in with them," Myrtle inferred. Sihir nodded. "Are the Mostafas known to be Dark wizards?"

Sihir shook his head. "Actually, Hanif was the black sheep of his family. The Mostafas are a good bunch, famous in Egypt."

He smiled, feeling better talking about his preferred relatives on that side. "Uncle Hassan kind of stepped in as a sort of father figure, after news got back to Egypt about Hanif. I think the Mostafas felt guilty about Hanif's actions. I get letters from Egypt all the time, from Hassan and my cousins."

Myrtle smiled again, glad to be back on a happier course in their conversation. However, Sihir checked his watch, noticing how long he'd been talking with her. "Oh, it's almost… I need to get going to the Great Hall."

"Sihir…" Myrtle began, slowly looking more morose again. "I've been here almost fifty years, I've been dead a long time. I don't know if I could be an 'aunt.' I never had many friends, alive or dead but... do you think we could be friends? You can visit me, we can talk about things?"

Sihir studied the ghost. He'd heard that Moaning Myrtle was rude, selfish, depressing. He didn't see any of that in the past few hours they spent talking. She just wanted someone to talk to.

He nodded. "I'd like that." Myrtle beamed at him.

* * *

"Sihir!" Sihir made his way over to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, where dinner was starting. His fellow Second Years were waving him over.

He found a seat next to Daphne Greengrass, who smiled at him as he sat down. "Hey Sihir."

"Hey Daphne."

"Sihir! Where did you go?" Nott asked. "We haven't seen or heard from you since Potions!" The others seemed interested as well.

"Well, I had to see the Headmaster."

"Was it about the Heir?" asked a Fifth Year who was listening in. A few of the older Slytherins were of the opinion that the Faculty would start isolating and interrogating the Slytherin students to find the Heir.

Sihir shook his head. "No. It's nothing to worry about." He remembered the story Dumbledore suggested he tell. "It's about History of Magic class. Binns is a ghost, right?" They nodded. "So, how do the History assignments get graded?" Their faces were blank. They hadn't thought of that. "It's NEWT students, nobody ever continues the class after their OWLs, so the highest graded History of Magic students are offered a Teaching Assistant position for extra credit."

"Oh, I see. That makes sense." Draco frowned. "But why were you talking to Dumbledore about that _now_? You're only in your Second Year."

"I think they sometimes like to get an idea of the students who might want the position early on. I was asked a few questions about the class, and I guess I know things that are OWL standard knowledge, so they would be interested in having me in the position come Sixth Year."

It wasn't a lie, there _were_ a few NEWT-level students grading the papers. It was a way for the school to judge possible future applicants for teaching positions.

"Strictly NEWT-level, though. I won't be grading any of your papers." Nott and Malfoy chuckled at that, and the subject was dropped for a more pressing matter. Quidditch.

* * *

Another attack happened after the first Quidditch game of the year. Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor First Year (and more importantly, a Muggle-born) was found petrified, much in the way Mrs. Norris was found. He was carrying a camera at the time, (he was known for snapping photographs around the school,) but hadn't captured a picture of whoever was behind the attacks.

To take his mind off the attack, Sihir found himself in the Library.

_Incomplete Transfigurations are difficult to put right, but you must attempt to do so. Leaving the head of a rabbit on a footstool is irresponsible and dangerous. Say 'Reparifarge!' and the object or creature should return to its natural-_

"Sihir..?"

A whisper interrupted Sihir's studies, and he looked up from his _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._ He found Hermione, his usual study partner, sitting down across from him at their usual table, setting down her own books, and a pensive look on her face.

He smiled at her. "Wasson?"

Hermione sighed. "Never mind, it's…" She turned her attention past Sihir, then looked back to him. "You haven't… heard anything, have you? About the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing?"

Sihir cocked his head sideways. "No, I haven't."

Hermione bit her lip, and turned her attention past Sihir again. "What about… Draco? Has he been acting… funny, at all?"

Sihir could tell she was trying to be nonchalant about something. "Draco? What do you mean?"

"Well… you heard him the night the message was found on the wall, right?"

"You don't think he's the Heir, do you?"

Hermione's eyes darted to something behind Sihir a third time. Sihir looked behind him. "Wait-" Hermione started, but Sihir already noticed Ron Weasley standing a few tables away, trying to hide behind a bookcase. He made eye contact with Sihir.

Sihir raised an eyebrow, and waved him over. Hermione groaned quietly. Ron cursed, then walked swiftly over to their table, sitting next to Hermione.

Sihir shot a sour look at the two of them. "This is bleddy ridiculous. Why are you asking me these questions?"

Hermione gulped, and put her head down. Ron's face went red, and he looked away. "Well… You're in Slytherin, and you're Hermione's friend, so we thought you might know something we don't…" he said, abashed.

"And you had suspicions of the Heir being _Draco._ " Sihir stated.

Ron nodded. Hermione shrugged. "Ron brought it up, I thought it was a stretch." Ron's face went a bit redder.

"Because he said 'Mudblood?'"

Ron looked up sharply at the sound of the word. "Don't say that word!" he hissed, glaring now at Sihir.

Sihir held up a hand in apology. "You're right, it's a slur, and I shouldn't use it. I apologize." He _did_ feel uncomfortable even using the word in passing, especially in front of a Muggle-born. He had his own history of slurs thrown at him. A few muggle boys who called him "towelhead" on the occasions they would go to town.

Hermione looked grateful, but Ron still glowered. Hermione, noticing this, frowned. "Ron, honestly, Sihir isn't-"

"He's a Slytherin. I don't know why you and Harry talked me into this." He stood up from the table, giving one last dirty look at Sihir, and left the Library.

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry about him."

Sihir shrugged. "Weasley can think whatever he wants to, I know better." He frowned. "I thought he was alright with me, after Diagon Alley?"

She shook her head. "I mean, he was… but then I got called a Mudblood, and now he, well… if he didn't like Slytherins before…"

Sihir nodded, understanding. "Whose idea was it, by the way? To talk to me?"

She hesitated. "Harry, actually. We were visiting him in the Hospital Wing after the game, and he asked us to talk to you about Draco."

Sihir smiled humorlessly. "'Man on the inside,' something like that?"

Hermione grimaced. "Something like that."

"Well, as long as you're not asking me to actively spy on my friends for you."

Hermione shook her head immediately. "Absolutely not, I wouldn't ask you to do that."

Sihir nodded. "Well, good. Because I won't."

"But, nothing unusual you've noticed?"

 _Besides Myrtle, the over-use of the word "Mudblood," and a bludger following after Potter during the game?_. "Nothing."


	5. Second Year: Christmas

**Second Year: Christmas**

* * *

Winter descended on the Hogwarts grounds in the latter half of November, fully coming into a properly white landscape in December. Most were looking forward to the holiday coming up. Draco Malfoy was badmouthing the Weasley family (especially their patriarch) to anyone who would listen. Something about an unjustified raid on their household. Sihir, however, had other things on his mind taking precedence.

Namely, the newly discovered family member that haunted a Girls' Bathroom, Myrtle Warren. They had spent a lot of time together talking since they met, at least once a week. Sihir would sometimes bring his homework and study during their chats. She was knowledgeable when it came to Transfiguration, which helped Sihir greatly.

Lately, though, he'd noticed a potion-brewing setup that had been there for at least a few weeks. _Independent study, maybe? Or something wanted kept out of sight?_

"Myrtle," Sihir began, indicating the Cauldron. "What's that, over there?"

Myrtle shrugged. "Someone experimenting, I suppose. Students have been known to hide potions and the like occasionally."

Sihir nodded. "I hope they at least ask you first."

"Usually they don't, it _can_ be very rude." She turned to Sihir. "I've been here for decades, though, so I usually don't remember people. You're one of the first in a while."

Sihir's curiosity was piqued. "Who else do you see often?"

She thought to herself for a moment. "A lot of Gryffindors, actually. There are these twins that come in here sometimes. Pranksters, those two. They make me laugh."

"The Weasleys, I think. Red-heads? Fred and George?"

She nodded, smiling. "That's them. Then, lately, a girl has been in here. Actually, the one brewing that." She indicated the potion setup.

Sihir raised an eyebrow. "A girl? Do you know her name?"

Myrtle shrugged. "She's in your year, I think. Kind of frizzy hair, buck teeth. A bit of a know-it-all."

 _Hermione._..

* * *

"So, it's your potion, then?"

Hermione was wide-eyed, white-faced, downright shocked seeing Sihir standing over her potion setup.

"S-Sihir? W-w-what-"

"So, that's what that stunt was about in class today..." he said, nodding to the ingredients Hermione was handling.

Hermione was silent.

"Why don't you just tell me what's going on." He leaned against a stall, arms crossed.

She looked at her potion, then back at Sihir. "Can I continue to brew, while I tell you? I need to get these ingredients in soon."

Sihir shrugged. "Oh, don't let me stop you, I'm simply... _curious_."

Her mouth set in a grim line, she set her materials down, and opened a book, _Moste Potente Potions._ On the outside, Sihir was cool and detached, but on the inside, he was giddy. _I love being a Slytherin_.

"What're you brewing, then?"

Hermione hesitated, but answered. "Polyjuice potion."

Now _that_ surprised him, the detached facade dropping for a moment. "Polyjuice..." he repeated, dumbstruck. She nodded, continuing her work. "Isn't that a NEWT-level potion?"

She nodded again, but this time she had a small, prideful smile, despite herself. As impressive as this was, she knew she couldn't exactly go around telling people.

"Would this happen to have anything to do with that conversation we had in the Library with Weasley?"

The smile disappeared, and she nodded, looking up at him. "Are you going to tell Professor Snape, then?"

_I could probably win so many points if I turned her in, but... she is brewing a polyjuice potion. If I wasn't "interested" in her before, I bleddy well am, now._

Sihir shook his head. "No, I'm too curious to see if you can pull this off."

Hermione didn't smile at that, but she looked relieved. She nodded, before a puzzled expression came to her face.

"Wait, this is supposed to be a Girl's Bathroom, why are you in _here_ , anyway? How did you know about the potion?"

Sihir grinned. "Myrtle told me. She's my grandaunt."

* * *

"Dueling Club? Interesting."

"Maybe Lockheart _isn't_ full of dragon dung!"

"Do you think he'll sign my copy of..?"

People were excited to learn more about this Dueling Club announced by Professor Lockheart. Sihir, despite his misgivings about the Professor's apparent lack of knowledge considering DADA, thought it was worth attending.

"Hopefully it won't turn out like the Cornish Pixies," muttered Nott, referring to their disastrous first lesson with Professor Lockheart.

The Slytherin boys chuckled at that on their way to the Great Hall, where a large number of students were already gathered, including more of their class. Nott went to join Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle while Blaise went to join Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, along with two of the new Slytherins, James Harper and Danielle Sarviese.

Sihir spotted the Hufflepuff trio of Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, and made his way over to them.

Noticing his approach, Sihir was made aware of their peculiar expressions. Hannah was looking at him grimly, Justin was smiling weakly, and Ernie was eyeing him with a distrustful look.

"Hey Justin, Ernie, Hannah."

"Hello Sihir." Hannah greeted, politely. Ernie said nothing, but nodded at him.

"Looking forward to the Holidays, Sihir?" Justin asked.

"Definitely. I think I'm going to make a dent in the Potions section of the Library, this year."

Justin chuckled at that. "You managed to read through the History section already?"

Sihir wiped his hands. "Easy enough." Ernie was still silent, almost ignoring him. Sihir looked at him questioningly. "What's the matter, Ernie?"

Ernie narrowed his eyes. "The matter? Besides your _friends_ calling people like Justin filthy slurs?" Sihir stiffened. This was bound to come up. "I notice you haven't been using the words, but neither have you discouraged it."

Justin held his hand up. "Hey, Ernie, it's not his fault. He probably has to bite his tongue a lot, being surrounded by…"

"That's no excuse!" Ernie interrupted. "My blood is as magical as the lot of them, and I have no problem telling them off." He glared at Sihir. "What's your excuse?"

Sihir was silent. It's true, he should be discouraging the others (Malfoy, especially) from using the slur. He took too long to answer, it seems, because Ernie simply walked off in a huff. Justin shot Sihir an apologetic look, which only made Sihir feel worse, and followed Ernie with Hannah.

Unhappy, Sihir walked over to join Aoibheann. "Hey, Sihir," she greeted genially.

"Afternoon," he said, glumly. A question that had been in the back of his mind came to him. Now seemed as good a time as any, and he needed a distraction anyway. "Hey, forgive me if I'm being rude by asking about this, but your parents seemed a bit uncomfortable at Platform 9 3/4."

She started to look a little uncomfortable, herself. "Well, they aren't used to being in a place like that. Did I tell you about my family, and where I'm from?"

"A little." Last year, Sihir had learned that Aoibheann came from a family of Druids from Ireland, but little else from that.

"Well, my family, and our community, don't really see eye to eye with the Ministry. Not since its inception. Technically, we're under their authority, but only in name. We are largely autonomous, usually pretty isolated from Muggles and other wizards and witches." She paused, looking around the Great Hall. "It's rare for one of us to attend Hogwarts, but my mother wasn't born a Druid. She went here when she was younger, and wanted me to go as well."

Sihir remembered the Faculty at the Sorting last year, not so subtle as they whispered to each other when Aoibheann's name was called. "So that's why some of the professors give you strange looks sometimes."

Aoibheann grimaced. "They _are_ obvious, aren't they?" Sihir grinned at that. "It's a weird political situation, but Hogwarts is supposed to be neutral and free from Ministry influence, so most of the Elders don't really have a problem with it." She shrugged. "We usually homeschool, though. I learn more of our magic over the holidays. Sometimes it means religious rituals for the gods." She hesitated. "That doesn't weird you out at all, does it?"

Sihir shrugged. "Does it weird you out that I'm a Muslim?" She shook her head. "Then it's no problem."

She smiled. "Maybe I should invite you over one summer, I'm sure the history of the Druids would fascinate you."

"I wouldn't mind that…" Just as long as he didn't have to participate in any Druidic rituals. He was open-minded, but still a practicing Muslim.

The conversations in the Hall quieted as Gilderoy Lockheart walked onto the stage, joined, surprisingly enough, by Sihir's Head of House, Professor Snape. The two were a strange pair to see together, with Lockheart's flashy attire definitely clashing with Professor Snape's usual plain black robes. What happened next would be the talk of the school for months to come.

* * *

_**Sihir Warren's School Journal, Second Year** _

_**December 17th, 1992 (Excerpt)** _

_So Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of You-Know-Who, all that, is a Parselmouth. Who would have seen that coming?_

_For the record, I attended a Dueling Club meeting tonight, organized by Professor Lockheart and my Head of House, Professor Snape. It was mildly entertaining, but then they brought Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter up to demonstrate how to block spells. Malfoy summoned up a snake, which ended up near Justin Finch-Fletchley. Potter started hissing at it, and the snake seemed to respond to his commands. I'm not sure exactly what Potter was saying to it, I couldn't understand it, but people are saying he was egging it on, or something, telling it to attack Justin._

_This brings us back to the whole "Heir of Slytherin" thing. Salazar Slytherin, himself, was a Parselmouth, which might indicate that Potter is his "Heir," if he inherited that ability from Slytherin. In any case, I plan on keeping my eye on him when I can…_

* * *

**_December 18th, 1992 (Excerpt)_ **

_December is just crazy. If last night was a revelation, tonight was... even more suspicious. Justin was attacked, him and the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. And who happened to be there at the scene? Harry Potter._

* * *

Sihir always had a strange relationship with the Christmas holiday.

As a Muslim, Sihir would normally have little other than Library time to look forward to in the coming holiday period. However, luck would have it that he celebrated his birthday on December twenty-fifth, the same day as Christmas (much to the amusement of his Muslim and Heka-worshipping family members.)

Very few students stayed at Hogwarts over the Holidays, and Sihir was one of them. A few NEWT students were staying to continue their studies. Fewer this year, with the whole Chamber business. Justin was attacked shortly before the Holiday, in a double attack that had claimed the Gryffindor House Ghost as well, which sent even more people scrambling to be away from the school. Sihir's mother even sent a letter asking if he was _sure_ he didn't want to return home for break. He was considering coming home, but decided he would be safe as long as he didn't wander.

He saw that Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were also staying for this holiday, unlike last year.

_"So, staying for Christmas, then?" Sihir asked, seeing Draco's name on the list._

_"What can I say…" Draco replied, grinning evilly. "Hogwarts is a bit exciting this year, and I don't want to miss a thing." Noticing Sihir's expression, he raised an eyebrow. "What?"_

_Sihir shook his head, clearly uncomfortable. "It's a little disturbing that you're so… apathetic about what's happening. People could die."_

_Draco only shrugged his shoulders and stalked off, leaving Sihir only more disturbed._

* * *

On Christmas day, he woke up to find birthday presents at the foot of his bed. Grinning, he tore off the wrappings of the packages. Two very interesting books. _The Life and Times of Hesper Starkey_ by Erhard Strauss from his mother, a biography of a famous potioneer and astronomer.

From his Uncle, though, a truly rare gem: an Arabic-Kemetic dictionary. He'd been asking for a way to learn the ancient Egyptian language, and Hassan delivered. The dictionary only came in a few languages, Greek and Arabic being the most common.

He left the room he normally shared with Blaise to see Draco in the Common Room, grinning as he opened his own presents, Crabbe and Goyle doing the same. "Happy Birthday, Sihir."

Most of the day was spent in the Common Room, showing off their presents, and playing a few games of chess while listening to the Wizarding Wireless.

"So, it teaches you Ancient Egyptian?" Unsurprisingly, Draco was the most interested in his dictionary.

"They prefer the term 'Kemetic,' and yes, but only if you know Arabic."

"What are those… squiggles?" Crabbe asked.

Sihir sighed. "Arabic."

"Why's it going that way?" Goyle asked.

"Arabic is written right to left." He flipped through the book, finding and underlining a word. "Here, it reads _salaam_ , that means 'peace' in Arabic. Here's the Kemetic word, _hotep_."

"What about the Hieroglyphics?" Draco asked, seeing the Kemetic words transliterated into Arabic script.

Sihir laughed. "No, no, that's a whole _other_ branch of the language, very complicated." He shook his head. "I'll stick with the Arabic script. That was tough enough to learn on its own."

After saying his prayers, he accompanied his housemates to the Great Hall. The remaining few students and the faculty were in high spirits. Dumbledore was leading everyone in singing carols, and even led everyone in a rendition of the birthday song for Sihir, who blushed at being the center of attention.

Not too many were still here. A few older students, mostly prefects, but also Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley. Sihir still wasn't sure about Potter, but knew he probably _wasn't_ the Heir, just that he was usually in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed to be a recurring problem for him.

Hermione seemed to be shooting a few looks his way, as well. _She might still be worried that I'll talk_ … Sihir simply grinned at her, finished a second helping of the Christmas puddings, and left for the Common Room.

Partway through a night studying the Arabic-Kemetic dictionary, Draco returned with Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed a bit out of sorts, but Sihir always felt they were an easily-confused duo. The three talked by the chairs at the fireplace for a few minutes, but Crabbe and Goyle excused themselves suddenly, and seemingly flew from the room, clutching their faces. Draco stared after them for a moment, then turned to Sihir, a confused look on his face. "Did they seem a bit… off, to you?"

Sihir shrugged. "Are they sick?"

"Maybe... I think they were still stuffing themselves when I left. Maybe they _are_ sick." Draco shrugged and made his way over to Sihir's table. "Seen this?" Draco held out a newspaper clipping.

The story itself concerned Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, having faced an inquiry and been fined fifty galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Sihir inwardly sighed. It would seem Draco was still bent on confronting the Gryffindors. Despite himself, and having no real desire to be polite in Weasley's case, Sihir chuckled at the story. "You should save that for Ron tomorrow," he said, handing it back.

Draco grinned. "Good idea!"

* * *

Sihir made it to the Great Hall for breakfast just in time to catch the tail-end of Draco loudly talking about the article to whoever would listen. Not many, it would seem, as most were away for the holidays, but the desired effect was achieved; Ron looked red in the face.

That's when he noticed Hermione was missing. Sihir shrugged. She wasn't always at Breakfast. She often found the opportunity to get an early start on Library time. Over the next few days, however, he noticed Hermione was still meaning. Not in the Great Hall, not wandering around the grounds with Harry and Ron, and _not in the Library_. That freaked Sihir out the most.

He caught up with the two on the staircase one day. "Weasley, Potter." They stopped, regarding him suspiciously. "Where's Hermione?"

"Like we'd tell you, Warren," Ron retorted, turning to move away.

"She's a Muggleborn, and I haven't seen her around lately." Sihir said, anger in his voice. "Either she's been attacked, or it has something to do with, oh, I don't know… Maybe a certain _potion_ you three were brewing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

Their faces paled, and their eyes widened. "How do you know that?" Ron asked, whispering and looking around to make sure nobody else heard Sihir.

Sihir raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic remark on his tongue, but held back. "Look, I'm just worried about my friend. That's all. She wasn't attacked, was she?"

Harry shook his head. "No. She _is_ in the hospital wing, but she isn't petrified. It's something else…" he trailed off, thinking about how to put it.

"Related to that potion?" Harry nodded. Sihir shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Well, thanks. I was worried about her. If you see her, ask if I can visit?"

Harry nodded again. "Hey, you won't tell anyone about..?" he asked, sheepishly.

Sihir shook his head. "Don't worry. I told Hermione I wouldn't tell, so I won't." He shrugged, looking disappointed. "Too bad the potion backfired, I was hoping she'd pull it off." He didn't notice their incredulous looks as he walked away.


	6. Second Year: The Monster

**Second Year: The Monster**

* * *

**_Sihir Warren's School Journal, Second Year_ **

**_January 5th, 1993_ **

_Hermione said I could visit. She looks like a cat. She won't tell me who she_ _tried_ _to get a hair from, but she must have lifted a cat hair from somewhere. Hopefully she tries to make Polyjuice again, I'd love to see her pull it off. Maybe I could help her out?_

**_February 2nd, 1993_ **

_I think this year is on an upswing, if god wills it. There haven't been any attacks since Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick, rumor has it that the Mandrakes are maturing nicely, and Hermione is finally out of the Hospital Wing!_

* * *

" _Oh Potter, You Rotter_ _,_ " the new hit composition by the school's resident poltergeist, Peeves, now had a dance routine. It was kind of entertaining at first, but was growing stale.

" _Oh Potter, you rotter, we know what you want! To see muggleborns flee as you continue your hunt!_ " Peeves recited a new verse he'd been working on that morning as the students made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. They were met with the strangest sight in days.

The entire Hall looked like how some of the older years described Madam Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade. Pink flowers everywhere, heart-shaped confetti falling from the ceiling. That's when Sihir remembered the date. It was the Fourteenth of February, Valentine's day. He noticed Professor Lockheart, wearing the gaudiest pink robes he'd ever seen, calling for silence from the teachers' table, and audibly groaned. "By god, what's he doing now?"

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted merrily, beaming at all the assembled students and staff (most of whom were equally horrified by the display.) "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all!" He grinned roguishly. "And it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and gestured to the entrance. The school as a whole turned to witness the entry of a dozen dwarves, who looked very displeased with their outfits. Sihir didn't blame them; they all wore golden wings and carried harps. One noticed Sihir looking at him. "Wha'r'ou lookin' a'?" he grumbled, glaring at Sihir.

"My friendly card-carrying cupids!" continued Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick looked positively embarrassed, and Snape was gritting his teeth, staring venom at the DADA professor.

"How are you still hungry, after _that_ display?" Theo Nott asked Sihir, amused.

Sihir looked at his plate. His usual eggs, toast, and no bacon, but there _was_ a bit more than usual, that was true.

He shrugged. "I always get a bit hungrier when _Ramadan's_ around the corner."

" _Ramadan_?"

"I have to fast from sunrise to sundown. It's a muslim thing."

"I thought you did that in March, last year?" Aoibheann asked.

"Well, I'll still be doing it in March, but it starts in February this year." He remembered the date. "It's the fourteenth today, so… nine days. I won't be eating or drinking anything from sunrise to sundown."

"What about water?"

Sihir shook his head. "Nothing. Well, if it's an emergency it's permitted, if you _absolutely, definitely_ need water."

"I don't think I could go a whole month!" Aoibheann exclaimed.

"I think that's why I eat more leading up to it," Sihir joked. The Slytherins chuckled at that.

The rest of the day was not the greatest, but one moment stuck out as one of the funniest moments of the year.

* * *

" _Oh my god!_ "

"Did you see his face?! It got _so red!_ "

The sounds of laughter must have been echoing through the Dungeons that night, with the ruckus and commotion coming from the Slytherin Common Room.

" _His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard_ ," began Pansy Parkinson, who had a very good singing voice.

The assembled Slytherins joined in: " _I wish he was mine, he's really divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord_ _!_ "

During the laughter and fun, Sihir noticed Tracey Davis sitting alone at a table, working on an assignment. She was grinning at the jokes, but whenever her eyes found Malfoy, that same loathing in her eyes came back, same as the night of the "mudblood incident."

Sihir made his way over to her. Tracey smiled at his approach. "Hey Sihir. How are you?"

"I'm fine. This is fun," he said, gesturing to the laughter of the Slytherins. He sat across from her, and nodded in the direction of Draco. "I notice you aren't too fond of Malfoy this year."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "I never said I was _last_ year."

Sihir chuckled at that, but sobered quickly. "What's going on?"

Tracey bit her lip nervously, looking between Sihir and Draco. "Well… you're friends with that Muggleborn in Gryffindor, Granger, right?"

Sihir blinked. This hadn't come up in conversation with any other Slytherin. "Yes," he answered evenly.

Tracey looked around the room again, as if to make sure others weren't eavesdropping. "You don't seem to have a problem with it, then. The whole Muggleborn thing."

Sihir shrugged. "I guess I don't."

Tracey sighed, seemingly out of relief. "I don't like that word… _mudblood_ _._ " She seemed disgusted to even use the word. "I play along because, well, it's expected of me, isn't it? We're supposed to be united in public, but even in private…" She glared in the direction of Draco. "Sometimes the loudest voices are the most listened to."

Sihir nodded. "I know what you mean. Another of my friends, a Hufflepuff, is Muggleborn as well, but his friends are angry with _me_ for not calling out Malfoy and the rest." He shook his head. "What's with him actually coming out and _using_ that word, anyway?"

Tracey grinned. "I heard his father was angry with him for being outshined academically by, quote, ' _that filthy mud_ …' well, that word."

Sihir nodded at that, turning to look at Draco, who was oblivious to them, and still acting out the dwarf sitting on Potter's legs and singing.

"He took it out on her first chance he got, then." Tracey nodded at that, turning back to her work. A quizzical look came over Sihir's face. "Who do you know? That's Muggleborn, I mean."

Tracey looked around again, then leaned forward a bit. "My father," she whispered. She obviously hadn't told anyone else. Sihir couldn't remember her ever talking about her family. Her eyes seemed worried, letting out a secret like that to another Slytherin.

Sihir nodded, and smiled reassuringly. He wouldn't tell anyone.

* * *

While the sun was visible during Ramadan, Sihir did little else but study, attend classes, pray, and read from the _Quran_ and the _Hadiths_. As with most faiths of the prophet Ibrahim, or Abraham as the Christians and Jews knew him, there were many passages from either that prohibited magic.

As a wizard and a muslim both, Sihir often thought about the consequences of his own existence, especially around Ramadan. His mother went through the same thoughts when she was younger, and Sihir's grandmother as well. There was a tradition in the Bashir family to repeat one of the sayings of the Imam Ja'far al-Sadiq.

A magician once approached the Imam, saying: "Sorcery was my trade, and with the money I made I would meet the expenses required of life. I even made the _Hajj_ by means of this income, though now I have abandoned the practices and have repented. Is there a way for me to achieve deliverance?"

The Imam replied: " _Open the knots of magic, but do not tie the knots of sorcery._"

* * *

March and Ramadan passed quickly, and the terror looming over Hogwarts seemed to be subsiding just as fast. The Mandrakes were closer to maturing. Sihir and the other Second Years were choosing what subjects they would take from Third Year to Fifth Year.

"I'm taking Magical Creatures and… Divination. Are you taking either of those, Sihir?" Draco asked.

"I'm taking Magical Creatures, too, but not Divination. It's _haraam_ _._ "

"' _Harm_ _?'_ What's harmful about it?" asked Crabbe.

"No, he said ' _haraam_ _,'"_ Draco said. "Why's it _haraam_?"

"Well, maybe harmful to the soul," Sihir joked. "' ** _None in the Heavens and the Earth knows the unseen except Allah_** ," he quoted. "Basically, the future belongs to God, only he knows."

Draco simply shrugged. "I'm still taking it."

Sihir turned away from Draco and back to Tracey, who he'd been studying with when in the Common Room. "How about you?"

"Arithmancy and Muggle Studies," she whispered.

Sihir grinned. "We'll have Muggle Studies together, then!" he whispered back.

* * *

The day of the Hufflepuff-Gryffindor Match, Sihir found himself in the Library. He wasn't feeling up to watching the match. He decided to continue with his personal mission to read his way through the library. He was reading _Potions of Stone_ when he noticed Hermione entering the Library, looking frazzled. She noticed him, and with a quick look of relief, started making her way over to him.

"Hey Hermione," he said in an undertone.

"Sihir!" she whispered. "Good, you can help me, I need to find this book…" She made her way down the stacks, towards the Magizoology section. Sihir marked his place in the book and followed.

"What are you looking for?" Sihir asked, looking through the books.

" _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ _,_ it might have information about whatever's attacking students."

Sihir stopped in his tracks, and his eyes widened. "Really?"

Hermione nodded impatiently. "Help me search!"

Sihir began looking. They found "M," then "Mo," "Most… _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ _!"_ Sihir pointed it out, and Hermione grabbed it, almost slamming it down on a nearby reading table.

She began flipping through the book. "If it's 'Slytherin's Monster,' it would be a kind of snake, right? We might find it in this book!" Hermione was driven at this point, not even trying to be quiet.

"Check the reptile section… pages 700-830."

"Hey, what is the matter with you two?" Sihir recognized one of the Ravenclaw prefects approaching them. "This is a Library, you need to be quiet!" she whispered, furiously.

Hermione didn't let up. "We might know what's been attacking the students!" That quieted the prefect, who looked shocked. She made her way around so she could see the book. "There, page 724… _Basilisks_ …"

Sihir read aloud. " _Of the many fearsome beasts..._ _none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk… gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years… aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death._ " Sihir had a puzzled look. "It doesn't say anything about petrification."

Hermione looked frustrated, but then quickly changed to excitement. "None of the victims actually _saw_ the Basilisk! Mrs. Norris must have seen the Basilisk in the puddles, Colin Creevey through his camera..."

Sihir continued hastily. "Justin must have seen it through Nearly-Headless Nick! None of them looked it _directly!_ "

They turned to the Ravenclaw Prefect. "We need to get this to Dumbledore," Hermione said, hurriedly. The Prefect nodded, turning, but stopped as suddenly.

There was a strange groaning of metal coming from… somewhere. Above them, to the side… Sihir's heart dropped as he realized...

"Pipes…" Hermione whispered, fearfully. She was nearly petrified, herself. She suddenly sprang into action, grabbing a quill from the table, and writing down the word on the Basilisk page, then tearing it out of the book. "We need to go, but how do we avoid looking at it?"

"F-follow me," the Prefect said, looking white as a sheet. She moved quickly to her books and her bag, and pulled out a small mirror, her hand shaking. "We c-can use this to check around the c-c-corners." She said.

Sihir and Hermione nodded, afraid but determined. They made their way outside of the library, checking with the mirror. The coast was clear, but the next corner was up next. Penelope checked the mirror, and appeared to stop suddenly. "What is-" Sihir mentally kicked himself for looking in the mirror, but he couldn't stop himself in time. He saw a pair of yellow eyes, then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sihir's quotation is from the Quran, 27:65


	7. Second Year: The Dream

**Second Year: The Dream**

* * *

_Sihir mentally kicked himself for looking in the mirror, but he couldn't stop himself in time. He saw a pair of yellow eyes, then…_ the world dissolved. The mirror faded, the Prefect, the corridor, the terror, the nausea, the everything.

Sihir found himself in a void. He looked all around, and there was… nothing. It wasn't _black,_ or _dark._ It seemed more like the absence of anything... tangible. He felt his body. It was there, something physical. He bent down, trying to feel for the ground. His hand passed well beyond his feet. _Am I_ floating? He moved his legs around. No surface was found, but it didn't feel quite like what he imagined floating would be like. Another thought came to his mind. _Am I dead? I looked in the mirror, though, I thought that..._

His heart sank, and he looked around frantically. There were no flames that he could see. No _Zaqqum_ Tree. Just... nothing. _Could this be Hell?_ "Please, God, no…" Sihir whispered, fearfully. He felt the tears in his eyes falling away into the nothingness. He felt broken.

He suddenly felt a presence, a powerful presence, surrounding him. He could not see, and tried to shrink away, but he felt as though he were paralyzed. The powerful presence came to Sihir, and suddenly embraced him. Sihir suddenly felt his fear beginning to dissipate, and was suddenly being filled with a sense of warmth, of comfort, of peace. The paralysis gave way as Sihir trembled, crying tears of bliss. God hadn't abandoned him.

" _La ilaha illa Allah, Muhammad rasoolu Allah_ ," Sihir testified, the joyful feeling spreading through his body. The presence grew stronger. " _La ilaha illa Allah, Muhammad rasoolu Allah!"_ he testified again, louder. He continued the _Shahada_ over and over, until all his fears melted, and, in submitting himself to God, he felt whole again. He closed his eyes.

* * *

As he opened his eyes, Sihir found himself staring at a high ceiling, the faces of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape studying him from above. Madam Pomfrey looked concerned, and Professor Snape's expression was unreadable. As they noticed his movement, Madam Pomfrey looked relieved.

"Mr. Warren, can you hear me?" the Matron asked. Though the voice sounded soft, it sounded loud, causing Sihir to flinch slightly. "Too loud?" she said, in an even softer tone. She whipped out her wand, and wordlessly cast a spell. "Better?" she asked, the voice now more tolerable.

Sihir blinked. "Y-yeah…" His voice was scratchy, and he was barely able to get the word out. "W-water..?"

A glass was brought to his lips, and he drank deeply. He hadn't felt such a thirst in his life. The glass was empty when Sihir finished drinking, and it was placed on the bedside table, to be refilled again by Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you," he said, the words much cleaner. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't easily move. It was a struggle. He felt like something was holding him down. He looked, but nobody was holding him down.

His eyes widened, and the peaceful feeling he felt in the presence of God was melting, replaced by that same fear. He remembered what brought him here. He'd seen the yellow eyes of the Basilisk. Was he still paralyzed? Would he be alright? Tears started streaming down his face, and he began gasping for air, but... _I can't breathe, I can't br-_

"Mr. Warren, please drink this…" Another glass was placed to his lips, a potion. "It's a calming drought, you've been through a traumatizing event," he heard Professor Snape say. Sihir drank of the potion. His fear slowly left his mind and body.

He realized his body had been trembling during his panic attack. "My body's moving..?" he asked, weakly, as the trembling slowly ended.

Madam Pomfrey kneeled down to Sihir's level. "Do you remember what happened?"

Sihir blinked again, unable to move his head too much. "I was in the Library, and Hermione came…" He looked to his peripherals, and saw other beds, all with curtains placed around them. "Is she alright? Is the Prefect?"

Madam Pomfrey smiled, which immediately reassured Sihir. "Yes, Mr. Warren. Ms. Clearwater, Ms. Granger, and the rest have all woken up. You've all been petrified for a long time. It's been almost a month for you three, but…" Sihir was shocked. A month? It didn't feel like that in his dream. He could only barely pay attention to Madam Pomfrey. He blinked hard, trying to clear his mind, trying to listen. "...all experiencing some atrophy. We have potions to deal with that, and we'll have you out of here as soon as you're ready…" She patted him on the head, which embarrassed Sihir to no end, and stood, turning to Professor Snape. "Professor, if you would..?"

Sihir felt a hand gently moving his face. His Head of House held another potion in his hand. "This will get you moving," he said. Sihir drank the potion as Madam Pomfrey left to care for another student. "The potion will spread through your body within fifteen minutes. By that time you will start to feel sore. Madam Pomfrey will then give you a remedy."

Professor Snape was very clinical in his bedside manner, but it was effective. Sihir, for one, _enjoyed_ his Head of House's aloof demeanor. "Afterwards, you will try to move your body _slowly._ Do not try to strain yourself, or it could impact your recovery." His expression didn't change, but his eyes did show the slightest hint of concern after his speech. "Do you understand?" he said, not coldly now.

"Y-yes, Professor." Snape turned to leave. "Thank you," he said.

Snape paused, turning back to the young Slytherin. "I'm the Potions Master," he said simply. Sihir thought that was all, but Snape kneeled by his side. "But more than that, you are of my House." He stood, the gentle moment vanishing quickly. "Get well, Mr. Warren. There's a feast that'll be waiting for you all." He swept from Sihir's bed, his black cloak billowing dramatically.

After the soreness came, Madam Pomfrey gave him yet _another_ potion. He began trying to move his body. Small things, first. His toes and fingers, then the hands, feet. Eventually, with Madam Pomfrey's help, he succeeded at sitting upright. She moved the curtains out of the way so he could see Hermione, who was in the next bed over, also sitting up.

She smiled widely at him. "Sihir!" She tried to move out of the bed, but Madam Pomfrey held her back.

"No, not until I say you're ready! Just sitting up is stressful enough on its own."

Hermione acquiesced reluctantly. She turned to Sihir. "Are you alright?"

Sihir nodded, glad to be able to do so. "I'm fine, I just…" His words were lost for a moment. "How are you?"

Hermione's smile faltered, looking past Sihir. "I… I don't know. I'm still half-terrified that the Basilisk is around the corner."

Sihir nodded again. "I understand…" He looked around the Wing. The others were all sitting up as well, except for two beds. One held Professor Lockheart, who was asleep, and the other held the younger Weasley sister, who was being checked over by Madam Pomfrey. Over at the bed across from Sihir's, Colin Creevey was sitting up, drinking a glass of water. He saw Sihir looking at him and stopped, smiling weakly and waving.

Sihir waved back, and Hermione giggled. "How are you feeling, Colin?" she called to him.

Colin shrugged. "I'm moving, so that's a start!" he said, positively. He looked back at Sihir. "I'm Colin Creevey, in Gryffindor."

Sihir smiled. "I know. I'm Sihir Warren, Slytherin."

Colin's eyes widened, but he nodded. "You were attacked, too?" Sihir nodded. "Are you Muggleborn too?"

Sihir shook his head. "No, not a Muggleborn. I'm not sure if they're even allowed in Slytherin," he joked.

Colin Creevey chuckled at that, but sobered. "I can't believe I was out for most of my first year." He was silent for a time, Sihir and Hermione looking on in concern. He slowly looked up, a mischievous expression on his face. "Does this mean I don't have to take the exams?"

Hermione gasped. "Oh my god, exams! How could I have forgotten!?" Sihir looked between the two of them, then started to chuckle. Mostly at Hermione's expense, because she looked genuinely worried about _schoolwork_ , of all things.

He started laughing harder, and Colin joined in. Then the sound was echoed from the other beds, from Justin and the Ravenclaw Prefect. After a shocked look that lasted only a moment, Hermione joined in.

After Madam Pomfrey thoroughly checked everyone, she allowed them to start trying to walk. The more recent the petrification, the easier it was to move around. Justin and Colin had the hardest time of it, so Penelope, Hermione, and Sihir supported them as they walked. Sihir paired up with Colin.

"So, a feast, then. That's good, we could all use some celebration." He said, making small talk.

Colin nodded, but gave him a curious look. "Most Slytherins I've met are a bit... rude, no offense. But you seem nice," he told Sihir.

Sihir was taken aback, chuckling at his bluntness. "That's because we're not in public," he said dryly.

Colin smiled, taking another step. "The other Gryffindors warned me about that. That Malfoy character seems like the worst. He was nasty when I was trying to get Harry's picture."

"I remember Draco talking about that." Sihir shook his head. "He really _hates_ Potter, doesn't he?"

Justin shrugged. "I'm sure he hates us _Muggleborns_ worse."

Sihir grimaced. Of course _that_ would come up. "Yeah, I need to apologize to you." He looked between Justin, Colin, and Hermione. "I should have been more vocal, against Draco."

Justin shook his head. "No, that's not your fault. I know that Ernie was-"

"This isn't just about that," he interrupted. "It's because God doesn't condone bigotry, and so I can't either." The dream was over, but he remembered God's presence. God didn't abandon him, He kept Sihir alive for a reason. He realized he made a mistake, as the others grew silent, looking uncomfortably at their feet.

"Did… did any of you dream?" he asked quietly, slightly changing the subject.

The others looked at each other, unsure.

"I think I did," Penelope said. "I don't…" She fell silent again.

The sound of Madam Pomfrey clearing her throat startled them all. "Well, let's get you all checked out. Ms. Clearwater, if you will..?"

* * *

They were escorted from the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey, and joined by Ginny Weasley. The revived students hesitated rounding corridors, but they all eventually reached the Great Hall. The room went silent, everyone turned to look at them. Then the world went mad. Everyone was cheering, people were swarming the six of them. Colin, Hermione and Ginny were dragged over to the Gryffindor table, Penelope to the Ravenclaws, and Justin to the Hufflepuffs.

All sense of decorum was lost on the Slytherins, as well, who rushed Sihir back to their table.

"What happened?"

"Are you alright?"

"We couldn't believe one of _us_ got attacked."

"How'd _you_ get caught up in all that?"

"I bet it was that stupid _mudblood's_ fault-"

"HEY!" Sihir had to shout, driven to anger over that last remark. The Slytherins surrounding him, and a few from the Ravenclaw table who heard his outburst, went silent.

Sihir stared at the Fifth year, whose name escaped him. He took a deep breath. "I would… _appreciate_ you not using that word. At least around me." He was calm, remembering the Slytherin rule.

The Fifth year just stared at him, curiously. She shrugged. "If you'd like." Sihir noticed Tracey Davis giving him a nod of approval.

They made room for him at the table, and he was surrounded again by people asking what _exactly_ went down. He told them most of it. He was in the Library, reading through the Potions section. That produced a few chuckles.

He mentioned Hermione coming into the library, asking for his help looking for a book. Nobody made a comment, which Sihir was glad about. They found the book, but encountered the Basilisk. They were saved from death with Penelope Clearwater's mirror, though they were petrified.

He left out the dream, though. He was happy to be alive, of course, but the void… He skipped over the dream, moving right along to him waking up and healing from his atrophy.

The Slytherins were astounded by the story, and they went on to fill Sihir in on what happened when he was petrified.

How they were escorted to-and-from classes, not allowed to leave the Slytherin Dungeon for anything but classes and meals. How Dumbledore was forced out by the Board of Governors, led by Lucius Malfoy (Draco was noticeably silent during this part.)

Word was spreading from the Gryffindor table, from Ron and Hermione's sides of the story. Apparently Ron and Harry went into the Chamber, and Harry defeated the Basilisk.

When Harry finally arrived, most students cheered. A few Slytherins, Sihir included, clapped politely, much to the ire of their neighbors along the benches.

The celebrations lasted well into the night. Exams were cancelled (Hermione must have been disappointed.) Lockheart wasn't coming back ( _everyone_ , even the teachers seemed relieved at that.) Gryffindor won the House Cup, making Sihir look the fool. "Okay, but _definitely_ nothing crazy will happen next year." He paused, unsure. " _Inshallah_ , you never know."

* * *

" _So, what was it like?"_

" _What, being petrified?"_

" _Hermione would never tell us," River said. "She was... What's the word? Traumatized?_

_Sihir sighed. "I mean, it was pretty traumatizing. I remember having this dream, during my petrification…" Sihir paused. "I was in a dark void. Nothing but me, just a void of complete emptiness. I thought I was dead, in Hell or something."_

" _In Hell?"_

" _Well it didn't match the description I was told of Hell, but still. I was young, and scared. Hell, I'm still scared. I…" Sihir's voice trailed off._

" _What?"_

" _I… No, I'd rather not broadcast that. Can we pick this up later?"_

_"Yeah, sure, mate." River cleared his throat. "We'll be back at a later date for another edition of "History Lessons," but for now, we'll turn to..."_

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As with the previous chapter, as we continue forward in the story, I will occasionally spend time exploring Sihir's faith more. I'm excited to be moving on to Third Year! Please review!
> 
> *Shahada = A testimony that is usually used in the conversion of new muslims. As Sihir is already a muslim, this scene was more of him reaffirming his faith in a God that hadn't abandoned him, out of pure faith and joy. Translation: "There is no god but God (Allah), and Muhammad his God's messenger."
> 
> *Zaqqum = A tree found in the Islamic Hell.


	8. Third Year: Summer

**Third Year: Summer**

* * *

_"I mean, I loved Hogwarts, you know? I loved the Library. I_ _really_ _liked my dorm room. I hear they are much nicer than the Gryffindor dorms."_

_"What? Come on, that's not true."_

_"Double or Single dorm rooms, depending on the Year."_

_"Wait, no. Seriously-?"_

_"That's neither here nor there," Sihir deadpanned, interrupting River. "Bottom line, I loved Hogwarts…" Sihir paused. "Unfortunately, from the moment I woke up, for a long while I expected to see the Basilisk around every corner. I even avoided the Library for some time."_

_"Damn, I can't imagine not feeling safe at Hogwarts. Well, before You-Know-Who took over."_

_Sihir forced out a chuckle. "Yeah, I was about to say," he said, dryly. He sighed. "My Third Year was, for lack of a better phrase, defined by fear. Sirius Black, Dementors, my memory of the Basilisk… not to mention Boggarts."_

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

* * *

"And you haven't heard anything? Seen anything suspicious?" the Auror, Williamson, asked.

"Like I said, after you _insisted_ on searching our home…" Naima Warren said, indignation creeping into her tone. "We haven't seen or heard any sign of Sirius Black, other than you coming and telling us that he's broken out of Azkaban!"

"Please, ma'am, we're just following orders…" he replied. "We meant no disrespect."

"Oh yes, the Ministry sending Aurors to a _Healer's_ house, in search of escaped dark wizards, isn't disrespectful at all!" Naima noted, voice dripping with sarcasm. " _Giss on_ _!_ Like I said before the Wizengamot thirteen years ago, _my_ affiliations were never aligned with You-Know-Who. This is an _insult_ …"

Sihir sat quietly in the living room, reading the _Daily Prophet_ and listening to his mother chew out the Auror. Also in the living room was an Auror trainee, a young woman named Tonks. She stood in the center of the room awkwardly, taking note of the decorations and trying not to listen to the loud argument happening the next room over.

"So… Hogwarts, then?" she asked, feebly.

Sihir nodded silently, not looking up from reading.

"What's your House?"

"Slytherin."

"Oh… My mother was in Slytherin."

"You don't need to make small talk if you don't want to."

"Alright, then."

She went back to studying the room. Outside, a third Auror was posted by the rock wall, the marking of the magical boundary around their property.

Sihir continued reading. Apparently, Arthur Weasley won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. The Weasleys used the money to take a Holiday to Egypt at the end of July.

"...and if it wouldn't be _too_ inconvenient for you, since you have found _nothing_ _,_ please get off my property." Naima finished.

"Yes, quite…" Auror Williamson said in a clipped voice. He entered the living room, looking at the two. Naima followed through the kitchen door, arms crossed, waiting for them to leave. "Tonks, we're leaving." He made for the front door.

Tonks leapt to attention, nodding to Williamson before turning to Naima, her face nervous. "Have a nice day, er, ma'am," she murmured, following Williamson out.

In her haste to leave, she bumped into a table, knocking a lamp to the floor, where it shattered.

She covered her mouth, her eyes wide and apologetic. "Oh, Merlin's soggy…" she muttered to herself, drawing her wand. "My apologies, m-ma'am, let me-"

"Please, just… leave," Naima said, her voice tired.

Tonks nodded, putting her wand away and leaving, red-faced.

Naima repaired the lamp and watched from the window until the three Aurors finally disappeared, then turned to Sihir.

She sighed. "Sorry I got _teasy_ _,_ there. When they implied we were hiding Black, I just…" She trailed off.

Sihir nodded, setting the paper down and giving his mother a hug.

"It's alright, mum." He broke off, grinning at her. "I can't believe you swore at him."

Naima blushed, but smiled all the same. "Don't let me catch you using that kind of language, Sihir. It's unbecoming." She chuckled.

Sihir laughed along, before sobering. "It's just Sirius Black that's escaped, then? Nobody else?"

Naima tugged at her _hijab_ nervously. "So they said…" she replied, evenly. When Sihir didn't respond, she pulled him in for another hug, this time much more protective. "I'm worried too, sweetie." She stroked his hair. "I know this summer hasn't been easy, and now this…"

Sihir broke off from the hug. "I don't, um…" He hesitated. "I don't really want to talk about it, mum…"

Naima nodded, sadly. "That's okay, we don't have to." She pulled off her _hijab_ _._ "No warning, no call…" she muttered. "Well, I'm going to get ready for work. What have you got planned for the day?"

"I might take a walk out to the cove, bring a book. Maybe the dictionary."

She smiled at that, though her eyes turned sad. "I'm glad your… uncle was able to get that to you." She looked uneasy, as she was when the Mostafa family was brought up. She saw that Sihir noticed, and shook her head. "I know Hassan is a good man, it's just…"

"You don't need to explain, mum."

* * *

_Sihir,_

_I hope well is in England! I am attempt English learn to talk for better as we visit during the World Cup! You will get meet to us for the first, and we will be meet you, and it is very excite!_

Sihir couldn't help but smile as he read his cousin's attempt at english. It was a solid start, all things considered. The rest of the letter continued in Arabic.

_I've exhausted my English as far as writing goes, but I'd love to practice more in the coming months! Will you please correct my spelling and grammar?_

_I will be an adult under Kemet Law this year, same as you! I'll get to have a new Kemet name, but you can still call me Saahira. I wonder, will you choose a Kemet name as well? Joking, of course. I know you are Muslim._

_Werethekau's Blessings,_

_Saahira Mostafa_

Sihir heard from his cousins every few months or so, and always around Christmas/his Birthday, but he'd had a better time keeping in contact with Saahira, as they were around the same age. She was slightly older, and would turn fourteen in early November, but still, they were closer in age than the rest of Hassan's children.

Saahira would be choosing her Kemetic name soon, the religious name one takes in Magical Egypt, if one was a follower of the ancient religions. It seemed Saahira was choosing to follow another of the Egyptian deities of magic, Werethekau.

Sihir set pen to paper, and began a reply.

* * *

"You know what to do?"

Sihir nodded, deadly serious. "Stay in public, don't go to Knockturn Alley, get what I need from Gringotts and the stores." He paused. "Can I stop by Florean's?"

Naima smiled, rolling her eyes. "Yes, you can stop and get ice-cream. Get your supplies first, though." She reached into the pot containing their Floo Powder. "Mind picking up some Floo Powder, while you're there?" She smiled as Sihir nodded. "Have fun."

Sihir smiled, and waved his mother goodbye as she called "St. Mungo's!" into the fireplace.

He stepped up, shouldering an enchanted pack and grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. "Diagon Alley!" The green flames erupted around Sihir as he stepped through, arriving on the other side at the Leaky Cauldron.

It was slow in the tavern, and Tom, the innkeeper, nodded in greeting. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning," Sihir replied.

He stepped out back, tapped the third brick to the left above the trash bin, and stepped through into the Alley.

Diagon Alley was not busy, though it was simply because it was early. "First stop, Gringotts."

Sihir was able to get his supplies and clothing in time to beat a lot of the shopping crowds that appeared as the day went on. On his way to Florean's, he ended up running into a familiar face outside of Quality Quidditch, ogling the new model of broomstick in the window.

"Firebolt, eh?"

Harry jumped, startled. "Sihir? Where did you come from?"

Sihir smiled evilly. "Slytherins are sneaky, watch out!" He chuckled, and Harry smiled weakly.

Harry turned back to the window, looking longingly at the Firebolt on display. "Imagine having something like that for Quidditch."

"God help us if you get your hands on one, Potter."

They moved away from the window, heading back down the street towards Florean's.

"Do you play at all?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes. I have some friends in Tinsworth who invite me over to play, on occasion, usually as Keeper." He chuckled. "I'm hopeless, though." He studied Harry's frame. "You're a natural Seeker, though. Is it true you never played before First Year?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, I didn't know _magic_ existed before First Year."

They were near the ice-cream parlour. "Want something? I'm buying," Sihir said, counting out a few sickles.

"What? No, you don't have to-"

"Least I can do, Potter," Sihir interrupted, grabbing a table. They ordered some sundaes, and Sihir paid.

"Which Electives did you choose?"

"Divination and Care Of Magical Creatures."

"I have Care too, and Muggle Studies."

Harry chuckled. "A Slytherin just bought me a sundae, and is taking Muggle Studies."

Sihir laughed, only slightly uncomfortably. "Unique, yeah?" That only made them laugh harder.

Their sundaes came, and Harry pulled out a parchment from his pack.

"Are you excited to see Hogsmeade, then? The older students tell me it's the place to be."

Harry grimaced as he studied the parchment before him. "I, uh… my uncle didn't sign my slip."

"Oh," Sihir said with a frown. "I remember Hermione telling me about your relatives, that's a shame."

Harry looked up from his parchment, surprised. "What? When did she tell you about that?"

Sihir shrugged. "After you didn't show up on the Express last year." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "They put _bars_ on your windows?" Harry's face was reddening in embarrassment, but nodded. Sihir shook his head, noticing Harry's discomfort. "Sorry for bringing it up, that was rude." Harry nodded, and returned his attention to his parchment. "What's that you're working on?"

Harry seemed glad of the change in subject. "Last of my summer homework. I think it's almost finished. The essay on witch burnings."

"Ah, yes. Mind if I take a geek?"

Harry shrugged and handed over his parchment. "Hermione said you like history, right?"

"The subject? Sure. The class? Makes me want to fall asleep." They chuckled as Sihir looked over his essay. "No, this isn't bad… maybe an addition in your paragraph about the flame-freezing charm would make it proper."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if they were captured by Muggles, their wands would have been seized, correct?" Harry looked dumbfounded. "Well, it was common practice in times of strife with Muggles to teach concentrated _wandless_ spells. The flame-freezing charm was one such. Apparition was another, to make an escape while the flames burned."

Harry nodded, taking back the parchment and looking it over. "That would help fill that part in more…" He smiled at Sihir. "Thank you!"

Sihir grinned back, finishing his ice-cream. "Least I could do." He paused, his face growing serious. "Probably a poor way of thanking you for what you did to the Basilisk, but there it is. A sundae, and history homework."

Harry chuckled uncomfortably. "Seriously, there wasn't any need for that."

Sihir shrugged. "I do what I like." He stood, holding out his hand. "See you in class?"

Harry didn't hesitate, and took Sihir's hand. "Yeah, see you in class," he said, smiling.

* * *

The Express was packed this year, with many students looking younger than Sihir. _Are all these new First Years?_ Either way, the compartments were packed. No room even with his Slytherin Third Years, many of whom were sharing a compartment. "Sorry, Sihir, there's no room…" Theo said, smiling apologetically. Daphne mirrored Theo's expression. Draco wouldn't look at him, neither would Crabbe, Goyle, or Pansy.

 _That was a bit… disconcerting…_ Sihir thought, hoping he was using that word correctly. He shrugged it off, but nervous thoughts began to come to mind as he looked for a compartment.

The first one he could find that had _any_ room had two notable people. First was Colin Creevey, a Second Year now. Also a Gryffindor, traditionally rivals of his own House. Despite that, they bonded somewhat towards the end of last year over the shared experience of petrification.

The second person… Sihir blanched when he saw Neville Longbottom sitting across from Colin. Sihir had been avoiding interacting with this particular student ever since their Sorting.

He looked left and right, trying to decide which way to disappear, but Colin noticed him outside their compartment, immediately brightening.

"Sihir!" Colin stood excitedly, and slid the door open.

Sihir smiled at him. "Colin, _wasson_?" Colin had hand raised towards Sihir, a Muggle greeting he'd taught Sihir after they left the Hospital Wing the previous year. Sihir reciprocated, chuckling as he slapped his hand.

Colin grinned. "Are you looking for a place to sit?" At his words, Neville looked apprehensive, as did the other Gryffindor in the compartment, recognizing Sihir as a Slytherin. Ginny Weasley, if Sihir wasn't mistaken. He'd seen her in the Hospital Wing last year, when they were revived.

Sihir was a bit apprehensive as well, taking another look along the corridor. "I, ah… I mean, if none of you mind…"

"Of course not! Come on, join us!" Colin stepped back into the compartment. Sihir mentally cursed, but entered, sitting down next to Colin.

Neville was looking at him warily, unsure of what to say.

 _Well, here goes nothing…_ If being in Slytherin taught him anything, it was how to fake pleasantries. "Longbottom, right? Or do you prefer Neville?"

"Either's fine," Neville answered, seemingly taken aback by the Slytherin's politeness. "I've seen you around, but I don't think I can remember your name…"

Sihir smiled, holding out his hand. "Sihir _Warren_ ," he said, stressing the surname.

Neville hesitated, but shook Sihir's hand all the same. "So… you know Colin, then?"

Colin nodded, answering before Sihir could get a word in. "We met at the end of last year, after we woke up in the Hospital Wing."

Neville's eyes widened. "That's right, you were one of the ones petrified. You were in the Library with Hermione, right?"

Sihir grimaced. "Yes, I was petrified with Hermione." He rubbed his neck, uncomfortable. "I'd, uh, rather not relive that right now, if you don't mind."

Neville shrank away, murmuring an apology. Colin picked up his cards. "Do you have any Aces?"

Neville studied his cards. "Yes, I do." He handed a card to Colin, who immediately placed it with three others at his feet.

"What are you playing?" Sihir asked.

"Go Fish. You've never played?"

"I take it this is a muggle game?"

"Yeah, you want to join us?"

Sihir's mouth twitched in amusement. "Yeah, sure."

When they finished their round, they dealt Sihir in, Colin explaining the rules. Sihir looked at the five cards in his hand. Two Jacks, a six, a Queen, and a five.

Neville went first. "Colin, do you have any sixes?" Colin drew a card from his five and handed it over. Neville grinned and shuffled his cards together. Neville turned to Ginny. "Ginny, any sixes?"

Ginny shook her head. "Go fish." Neville smiled and drew a card from the deck between them. "Neville, any fives?"

"Go fish."

Colin was next. "Neville, do you have any twos?" Neville handed one card over. "Sihir, do you have any… Kings?"

"I don't, so… 'go fish?'"

Colin nodded excitedly. "Yeah, awesome, you're getting it!" He drew a card from the deck. "Now it's your turn."

Sihir studied his cards, then turned his eyes to Neville. "Neville… do you have any sixes?"

Neville's eyes narrowed, looking back at his cards. With a sigh, he gave up his three sixes.

Colin whistled. "Wow, that was a good first move, Sihir!"

Sihir chuckled. "So, that's a four-of-a-kind…" He placed them down at his feet. "Right, um… Ginny, any Jacks?"

"Go fish!"

The four spent much of the ride playing the muggle card game, Colin winning most of the time, and Neville winning second-most.

Much too soon into their journey, the train began to slow down, the wheels screeching against the tracks.

Sihir rose, moving past Colin to the window. It was a bit dark out, but the landscape looked nothing like Hogsmeade Station. "We couldn't possibly be there yet…" Sihir muttered.

Neville poked his head out into the corridor, but as the train jolted to a sudden stop, he was knocked back into his seat, against Ginny. The lights in the compartment went out.

" _Ow_!"

"Sorry, I lost my balance." Sihir could barely make out the features of the other three, but their voices gave away who was who. "I think I saw Harry in the next compartment, I'm going to check." Neville stood, sliding the door open.

"I'm going, too. My brother is probably there." Ginny followed Neville out, and closed the door.

"Should we follow them?" Colin asked, his voice soft, scared.

"Shh…" Sihir squinted outside. "I think people are boarding the train."

The only sound Sihir was sure of was their breathing. The rest was silence, which seemed to pound in Sihir's ears. The train creaked, but in the darkness, he was reminded of the groaning of the pipes in the Library.

A dark shape came to the door, hooded and cloaked. Sihir could only stare, paralyzed. The door slid slowly open, seemingly of its own volition, and the being slowly looked within. It was a Dementor.

Sihir sucked his breath in, unable to think. He was suddenly reminded of terrible things. His father was a murderer, he tortured the Longbottoms. What if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree? What if _he_ escaped from Azkaban as well?

The darkness beneath the hood seemed to grow, honing in on Sihir. Sihir shrank back. He was being filled with the same sense of dread he felt in his dream. Then he heard the voices. Not coming from the Dementor, but coming from the recesses of his mind. _God doesn't love you. God's abandoned you. God_ _hates __you._

Sihir let out a whimper, feeling empty inside. The Dementor floated back out into the corridor, moving down to the next compartment.

Sihir gasped as the presence left, hyperventilating. He was still surrounded by darkness.

"Sihir? Are you alright?" A blinding flash of white light suddenly blasted from the corridor, from the direction of Harry's compartment. Sihir shielded his eyes. "What was that?"

Sihir lowered his hand, and moved slowly to the sliding door. He poked his head out. The Dementor was gone, but a man was out in the corridor, wand drawn. He was dressed somewhat shabbily, looking pale. "Is it gone?"

The man turned, smiling reassuringly, albeit tiredly. "Yes, they won't be boarding again." He turned back towards Harry's compartment. "If you'll excuse me."

Sihir closed the door. "I think that's the new Defense teacher."

"I heard the position is cursed," Colin said, still looking a bit shaken. It was a jarring sight, considering his usual optimism.

Feeling his humor returning slowly, Sihir let out a soft chuckle. "Nobody's made it a year, so far. Let's see how this year goes."

Neville came back with Ginny, saying that the Professor, Lupin, advised eating chocolate if one was affected by the Dementor.

"He's _telling_ us to eat sweets? I like this new Professor already!" Colin joked, but the rest of the trip continued in relative silence.

* * *

It was the largest year group in decades, apparently. _Much_ larger than his Year, and the previous Year. _No wonder the Express was packed_ _,_ thought Sihir as he watched the Sorting.

"See the new teacher?" Draco said, nodding up towards the teacher's table. Lupin was sitting there, watching the Sorting, and applauding the new additions to the Houses. "Look at the _patches_ on his robes!"

"Can't he afford anything better?" Pansy interjected.

"Greengrass, Astoria!" called Professor Sprout, who was substituting for Professor McGonagall for some reason.

"Shh, my sister's going up!" Daphne said, smiling widely.

Astoria looked nervous going up to the stool, and sat down. The hat was placed on her head. A minute passed in silence. "SLYTHERIN!"

Three tables erupted in applause as Astoria smiled and made her way to join the Slytherins.

"I'm so proud of you, 'Stori!" Daphne shouted down the table.

Sihir frowned, counting their new additions. "We only have five so far…" He studied the other tables. "Everyone else has, like, nine or ten each."

The Slytherins grumbled about that amongst themselves as the Sorting continued. As it concluded, they grumbled some more. Each House had many new First Years but Slytherin, which had a grand total of nine. The grumbling died down as the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, rose to address the school.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore began, beaming. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

He cleared his throat. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business." He went on to stress the importance of avoiding them. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn _each and every one of you_ to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors," he said, pausing and looking very seriously around the Great Hall, the gravity of his words falling upon all the students.

Sihir looked down the line at Gemma Farley, the new Head Girl. She simply adjusted her badge at the mention, and continued focusing on the Headmaster.

"On a happier note," Professor Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year." He smiled, and the tension left the room immediately. "First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was light clapping as the new DADA teacher stood to accept the applause.

"Does Professor Snape look… angry, to you?" Blaise whispered to Sihir. Their Head of House looked infuriated, staring down the table at Professor Lupin.

"Usually he's only annoyed, right?"

"Yeah, strange."

"As to our second new appointment," continued Dumbledore, "well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

The applause this time was much louder, mostly from the Gryffindor table. The large groundskeeper was smiling, beaming with pride. "Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the feast begin!"

* * *

The Feast was delicious, as always. As Sihir made to follow his Housemates to the Common Room, he was stopped by Professor Snape. "A moment, Mr. Warren?" Sihir nodded, shrugging at his Year-mates when they looked questioningly at him.

On the way to Professor Snape's office in the Dungeons, Sihir hesitated around corners, despite his Head leading the way briskly. Professor Snape simply waited patiently as Sihir lagged behind, which surprised him. The Professor was usually not one to wait on students.

"Have a seat," Professor Snape said, gesturing to one of the chairs at his table. Sihir looked around as he sat while his Head lit a fire. He hadn't been to Snape's office. It was lined with shelves containing various ingredients, animal parts, and plants, all in jars filled with a variety of differently-colored liquids.

Professor Snape sat, studying Sihir. "How does it feel to be back in school, Warren?"

Sihir looked at the table, not meeting his eyes. _Heavy topic, great..._ "I'm, ah… still not sure how to feel, Professor." His voice was restrained, and his throat felt a bit tight.

Professor Snape nodded. "I notice you're slow to approach corners and hallways."

Sihir gulped, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, Mr. Warren." His voice wasn't warm, not by a long shot. There wasn't, however, any of the usual cold detachment, either.

"I've… I've been having certain _fears_ _,_ I guess, coming back. I know it's stupid, I know the Basilisk is dead now, but…" Sihir trailed off.

"It's not stupid. This is a very real, very traumatic event you went through. Of course it still affects you." Professor Snape leaned forward. "Do you have anyone you can talk to, should the need arise? I know sometimes members of our House can be a bit..." He left the rest unsaid.

Sihir blushed, but nodded. "Do you know about my relation to Myrtle, Professor?" Snape nodded. "She might be the best to talk to, because…"

"Yes, I know…" Snape looked thoughtful. "Insightful choice… Five points to Slytherin." Sihir chuckled at that, and Snape smirked. "Let's get you back to the Common Room, Mr. Warren."

* * *

Sihir entered the Common Room with Professor Snape, who paused to have a word with Gemma Farley as Sihir moved to join Blaise Zabini by their Year Group. The First Years were in the center of the Common Room, being given the Yearly address by the new Fifth Year prefects.

Sihir caught the tail-end. "And with that, welcome to your new Family, Slytherin!"

"Slytherin!" Everyone in the Common Room echoed the last word, moving forward to shake the hands of the new students. Daphne ran forward and wrapped her arms around her sister. Snape simply nodded in approval at the new class, and left.

Blaise pulled Sihir aside. "So, what did Professor Snape want?"

Sihir smiled. "I think he was just checking on me, making sure I'll be adapting back to school after the whole… _petrification_ thing."

Blaise grimaced. "About that…" He took a look, making sure they weren't being listened to. "There's a _rumor_ going around. About you."

Sihir raised his eyebrows. "Rumor?"

"People saying there's a reason _you_ were petrified. A reason _you_ were in the Hospital Wing with _Muggleborns_ _._ " Blaise paused, looking over at their classmates. "I'll give you a guess who's been speculating about that."

 _So that's why he didn't say anything on the Express…_ "Draco?"

Blaise nodded. "Then there was you insisting people stop using… _that word_ _,_ around you, at the celebration after you woke up. And we know you study with _Granger_ …"

Sihir was paling slightly, so Blaise patted his shoulder. "It's only a few people, Sihir. The Upper Years don't care, it's mostly those five." He nodded to Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Bulstrode. "And Crabbe and Goyle don't have an ounce of original thought in them, they're just following Draco's lead."

Sihir chuckled lightly, that made him feel a little bit better. "So, just idiots, then?"

Blaise chuckled along. "Something like that, yeah."

The First Years were introducing themselves to the House at large. Astoria was already established, being the sister of Daphne.

"And your name?" Adrian Pucey, the newest male Prefect, asked one of the First Year girls.

"Maisie Hughes!" She was dark-skinned, with short natural hair and a friendly face. She looked around the room excitedly, taking everything in.

"You seem excited to be in Slytherin, Maisie!" Adrian said, amused.

Maisie nodded. "I'm just excited to be a witch. I had no idea magic existed until quite recently." At her words the room went deathly silent. Everyone stared at the new… _Muggleborn Slytherin_ _._

Sihir, amongst a few others, looked at the moving portrait of Salazar Slytherin, who had no immediate reaction, but seemed to be watching with interest. The portrait of their Founder did not speak often, only to those he judged worthy. Gemma Farley was the most recent.

Maisie looked around, confused. "Did… I say something wrong, or..?"

Adrian Pucey smiled reassuringly. "No, nothing. You're a _Slytherin_ , and that's all that matters." He said, voice carrying through the room. Everyone, taking Pucey's cue, went back to their conversations. "We're happy to have you in our House."

"Great, _more_ dirty blood," whispered Malfoy, within earshot of Sihir. Sihir made eye contact with him. Draco, in faux-politeness, simply inclined his head and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Longest chapter so far, I think! I'm hoping they'll be longer from here on out, but anyway, welcome to Third Year! Please review, follow, etc.


	9. Third Year: Draco

**_May, 1992_ **

_Sihir was up late, the last in the Common Room that night (or, early morning.) He was having trouble with preparing for his Charms end-of-year exam, practicing for several things Professor Flitwick said they might be tested on. He was currently attempting to make a pineapple tap dance, but it kept falling over and spinning around in a circle._

_"_ _VIPERA_ _!_ _"_ _Sihir jumped. Professor McGonagall strode through the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeons, practically dragging Draco Malfoy along. "Be_ _sure_ _that I will be speaking to Professor Snape about your nighttime wanderings, Mr. Malfoy."_

_"_ _B-but, Potter! He-"_

_"_ _I will not hear another word out of you! Another ten points from Slytherin!" She looked around the Common Room, and saw Sihir. "Mr. Warren." Draco turned quickly, looking distraught. "Up late, are we?" Her voice had none of the irritation directed at Draco, but Sihir was still nervous being addressed immediately after the verbal lashing Draco had endured._

_"_ _Y-yes, Professor McGonagall." He gestured to his pineapple, still spinning. "Studying for Professor Flitwick's Charms exam."_

_She nodded, a stern expression on her face. "Well, you should get to bed, it's late. A good night's rest will do wonders for your studies."_

_"_ _Yes, Professor."_

_After another look at Draco, she turned to leave. "Good night."_

_"_ _Good night, Professor McGonagall." Sihir murmured. Draco was silent as she left, not looking at Sihir now. "What's… going on, Draco?"_

_Draco walked over, sitting down by the continuously-spinning pineapple. "I_ _know_ _he was doing it_ _tonight_ _. I thought…" He trailed off, looking almost close to tears._

_"_ _Who was doing what?"_

_Draco sniffed. "Potter. I found out he was trying to smuggle that oafish groundskeeper's dragon away."_

_"_ _Dragon?!" Sihir would have normally rolled his eyes at Draco's constant put downs of the groundskeeper's West Country accent, which sounded close to Sihir's own Cornish accent that came out on occasion, but the news of the dragon blindsided him._

_"_ _Yeah, a dragon. I could have gotten Potter expelled, and that red-head friend of his, and that know-it-all muggleborn. McGonagall didn't believe me, and now we're down thirty points!"_

_He looked at Sihir, pleading. "Please, don't tell anyone that I lost us so many points."_

_Sihir stared at Draco, usually looking so smug, so… arrogant might be the right word. Now he looked so… vulnerable._

_He grabbed Draco's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "They won't hear it from me, Draco. Just, do me a favor? Stop worrying about Potter and the rest so much from now on. It's not healthy."_

_Draco chuckled, and sniffed again. "Thanks Sihir."_

_Draco ended up having nothing to worry about. The next day they found out Gryffindor was down one-hundred-fifty points, all because of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and, surprisingly, Neville Longbottom. Draco shot Sihir a relieved grin at the news, looking like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders._

* * *

**Present Day, September 1993**

"Well, _that_ was interesting…" They hadn't commented on the "scandal" of a Muggleborn Slytherin student yet, but it was going to be quite the topic of interest behind closed doors.

Sihir chuckled humorlessly at Blaise's assessment. "Understatement of the year, Zabini."

Blaise gave a sly grin, pulling off his robes without hesitation. Sihir looked away. Blaise _seriously_ had no shame. Sihir, however, was uncomfortable with nudity. They shared a dorm room together. Two comfortable four-poster beds, a desk each, a shared bookcase, a small fireplace, and two comfy armchairs. Much of the decoration was in their House colors, green and silver. Sihir had a Falmouth Falcons banner up, while Blaise had one of the Tutshill Tornados. They often light-heartedly bickered about the teams ("You're not jumping on the bandwagon, are you?" "' _Foulmouthed_ ' Falcons, more like.")

Sihir set down his prayer rug next to his bed, noting the place on the wall he'd marked in his First Year, which faced towards _Mecca_.

"She'd probably only hear anything in the Common Room, and only from traditionalists. You know how Slytherins are in public," said Blaise.

"United." Slytherins had the rule of not fighting in public. Any disagreements must be settled in private, not in front of the other Houses. Draco's comment was still fresh in his mind. _"Great, even more dirty blood..."_ Sihir and Draco had always been friendly, helping each other succeed like good Slytherins, but ever since his comments Second Year, when he was openly hoping for Muggleborn deaths...

Sihir turned to Blaise, who was finally changed into some pajamas, a questioning look on his face. He knew Blaise believed magical ancestry was important, but... "I know we've never discussed it..." Blaise looked curiously at Sihir. "Has it ever been an issue before now, me studying with Granger, or even me not supporting the whole blood purity thing?"

Blaise shrugged. "We had discussed it once. Or, at least, Draco tried to have a discussion behind your back. Aoibheann tabled it, quite assertively. I concurred, as did Daphne, Tracey and Theodore. Apparently, the debate is back on, as of this year."

"At least I know who my friends are, now…" Sihir muttered darkly.

Blaise shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about it. It's not like he has a large amount of the House with him. Like I said, most of the older students don't really give a damn." He sat on his bed, stretching and yawning. "You going to put that candle out?"

Sihir froze. "Um…" He turned to Blaise, who was looking expectantly. "So, I'm going to be honest with you, Blaise. This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but…"

Blaise looked concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, it's just…" He took a breath, feeling his throat getting tight again. "When I was petrified, I dreamed. I was in a completely empty void. Darkness…" He trailed off again. "Sorry, this is hard to talk about."

Sihir hadn't discussed this with anyone, which Blaise knew. He looked fascinated, but nodded patiently. "Take your time."

Sihir decided to get to the point. "I've been avoiding dark places ever since. When the lights went out on the Express? I nearly had a panic attack. The Dementors didn't help in the slightest…" Sihir felt that tightness returning to his throat. "I... It's-"

"You want to leave the candle."

Sihir grimaced. "It's stupid, right?"

Blaise shook his head. "If you want to leave it, leave it." He smiled, reassuringly. "It's fine, Sihir."

"Thanks. Just… don't tell anyone, yeah? It _is_ a bit embarrassing…"

"No worries, Sihir. I won't tell anyone."

* * *

"Watch this…" Draco said as Harry Potter was about to pass by their section. He began to mime fainting. His lackeys, for lack of a better term, roared with laughter. Sihir watched the exchange with interest, seeing Harry and Ron shoot dirty looks Draco's way.

Hermione seemed determined to ignore the table, but also smiled at Sihir as she passed.

"Hey Potter!" Pansy was shrieking. "Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! _Woooooooooo_ _!"_

Sihir mimed wincing, for Blaise and Tracey's amusement.

"She can be loud," Tracey whispered, grinning.

Sihir looked over his schedule, noticing they were starting the Elective subjects that day. Muggle Studies first, then Care of Magical Creatures after Lunch. They ate Breakfast quickly, and Sihir made his way to Muggle Studies, joined by Tracey and Daphne, the only three Slytherins taking Muggle Studies, at least for their Year.

Also in the class was Ernie Macmillan, who'd made up with Sihir after last year's celebration, and, surprisingly, Hermione, who beamed when she saw Sihir.

"Hermione, wasson?" Sihir sat next to her. Tracey and Daphne sat to Sihir's right. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought it would be interesting to learn about Muggles from a Magical perspective, it sounds fascinating!"

Sihir simply chuckled. Daphne nodded in Hermione's direction, and Tracey introduced herself politely. Hermione was surprised, but also introduced herself.

The class itself was interesting, to say the least. They learned about the aims of the class, and Professor Burbage even showed them something called a "film" of what Muggles called a "rocket," and someone hopping up and down on a snowy landscape, dressed in a strange, bulky outfit.

That's when she pointed out Earth in the corner. "That, class, is where we are. Earth. This film was shot from the Moon's surface by American Muggles in 1969." Sihir was stunned.

* * *

Sihir breathed in the fresh air, glad to be out of the castle. It was liberating, seeing the grounds that stretched for miles, the vast forest, the deep lake, the tall mountains. Inside the castle was... confining. And, at times, frightening. Even though the Basilisk was defeated the previous term, Sihir still felt its presence around ever corner.

Sihir shook his head to quell the bad thoughts coming to mind, and returned his attention to the Care of Magical Creatures class. Draco hadn't brought up "dirty blood" yet that day, which Sihir was thankful for. Unfortunately, he was pestering Sihir to translate for their new Professor's accent. "What do you mean, you don't understand him?"

"It's like he's speaking gibberish!" Draco complained. He studied Sihir. "Aren't you from the country?"

"Well, Cornwall," Sihir clarified, an ounce of sarcasm penetrating his voice.

"But can you understand him?"

"Yes!"

"Then translate."

Sihir groaned, but complied.

Harry started off the class well by demonstrating how to approach a Hippogriff, which was a tense and exciting few minutes that Draco mostly ignored (despite the translation of Hagrid's instruction by Sihir.) Afterwards, Hagrid assigned small groups to each of the dozen Hippogriffs by the Paddock. Theo, Aoibheann, and Sihir were assigned a smaller bronze-feathered one, named Softclaw, which was staring at them, with what Sihir hoped _wasn't_ disdain.

Theo took a step back, gesturing to Sihir. "I insist…" he said, eyeing the Hippogriff nervously.

When Sihir hesitated, Aoibheann scoffed and strode forward. She stood and bowed before the Hippogriff, her movements exact, almost... practiced. She's definitely done this before. Softclaw straightened, then bent into a bow. Aoibheann approached again, immediately beginning to stroke the beast's feathers. She turned and grinned at Sihir and Theo. "Who's next?"

Sihir slowly approached, and Aoibheann stepped out of the way. Despite the situation, at least he was outdoors. He didn't feel the same fear that he felt in the confining hallways. The orange eyes weren't filled with hate, not like the yellow eyes of the Basilisk. Never breaking eye-contact, he slowly inclined his head, leaning forward into a bow.

It was a tense few seconds, but still Sihir felt little fear as the proud orange eyes regarded him. Softclaw bent its knees, inclining its head into a bow.

Sihir smiled, straightened, and approached it further. He held a hand out, cautiously, and Softclaw met him halfway, leaning into the hand. "You're just beautiful, aren't you…" Sihir murmured, moving his hand past the beak to stoke the feathers.

"Grea' wor' there, Si'r! Same t'you, Av'n!" Hagrid shouted, passing by as he was checking on students.

"That accent butchers my name, I think," Aoibheann said, giggling.

Sihir grinned at Theo. "Your turn!" He called. He turned to Softclaw. "That's my friend, you'll like him." He patted the Hippogriff on the side, and stepped back.

Theo gulped, and moved forward. As he leaned into a bow, the class came to a grinding halt. Draco was screaming.

* * *

The Second Year Slytherins were huddled together, minus Draco, who hadn't returned from the Hospital Wing. Pansy said he was resting, but still in pain.

"He says he's still in pain. Madam Pomfrey was talking about keeping him for a few days," Pansy was saying.

"What exactly happened?" Blaise asked.

"Damn Hippogriff clawed him." Crabbe said. Goyle nodded along. The two were partnered with Draco that class.

"Draco said something about writing to his father. He'll figure out some way to get that _oaf_ fired." Pansy looked up dreamily. "Always so clever…"

Tracey started making gagging noises behind her back, which made Daphne laugh.

"How was Muggle Studies?" Aoibheann asked, turning to Tracey, Daphne, and Sihir. Theo leaned in, interested as well.

"Fascinating, actually," Sihir said.

"Did you know Muggles have been to the Moon?" Tracey interjected.

"Been to the Moon?" Theo asked. He looked disbelieving. "You're kidding, right?"

Tracey, Daphne, and Sihir talked through their class with the two, who were fascinated.

* * *

"You were good with the Hippogriffs today, Aoibheann," Sihir said after Dinner. They were making their way back to the Common Room. "Have you done that before?"

"Yes, actually. My home has quite a few Hippogriffs." Aoibheann smiled at Sihir. "You weren't too bad, yourself. A bit slow to approach, but it was your first time, right?"

"Yeah…" They were approaching a turn, and Sihir lagged behind slightly, letting Aoibheann go first. It was safe, as Aoibheann hadn't frozen. He inwardly cursed. _Get it together, Sihir… What the hell is wrong-_

"You alright?" Sihir looked up. Aoibheann was staring at him, concerned. "You've gone pale…"

Sihir shook his head. "It's fine." He caught up with her, continuing their way through the Dungeons. They reached the bare stretch of wall. " _Malpolon monspessulanus._ " The Common Room was revealed.

Sihir and Aoibheann made their way to an unused table, and set some books down.

"Usually you're in the Library right around this time."

"Yeah. I just decided… eh, it's the first day back, I've got plenty of… time…" Sihir trailed off, seeing the look on Aoibheann's face. She wasn't buying it. " _The first day back?"_

"What's the matter, Sihir?" Sihir didn't answer. "Sihir, if-"

Sihir stood, grabbing his pack from the ground. "I'm tired, I'm just…" He didn't finish, but just walked to his room, leaving Aoibheann to look after him, worried.

* * *

Malfoy arrived halfway through Potions on Thursday morning, as the class was working on the Shrinking Solution.

Malfoy nodded in their direction as he made his way through the classroom. Sihir was paired with Blaise and Tracey.

"How is it, Draco?" Pansy whispered as he passed, a look of concern on her face. "Does it hurt much?"

Draco gave her a pained look. "Yeah…"

Sihir turned back to his partners, and rolled his eyes. They were hiding behind the cauldrons, but Sihir could tell they were smiling. It was hot in the Potions classroom, and maybe the fumes were getting to him, but Draco was _really_ starting to get on his nerves. For the rest of the class, it got progressively worse.

"Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm…" Draco was calling, in a worried voice. The Slytherin in Sihir could recognize the subtle smugness underlying the tone.

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," Snape said dismissively.

Sihir heard Ron say something under his breath to Draco.

"You heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."

If Sihir rolled his eyes any higher, he might go blind for a week trying to figure out where his pupils went. No doubt that Draco had been hurt in the CoMC class, but at this point… it was _painfully_ obvious that he was fine, he was just playacting.

Sihir tried to ignore Draco's taunts, but was distracted at a change of topic. "...they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted," the Irish kid in Gryffindor was saying. Sihir looked over that way, all ears.

"Not too far from here, it was a Muggle who saw him…" _Not too far from here… Is that why there are Dementors all around the school? To catch him if he comes here? Why would he come to Hogwarts?_

"Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?" _Oh, here he goes again._ Sihir gave Blaise a significant look, who only shook his head, holding back a grin.

"Yeah, that's right," Harry replied vaguely.

"Of course, if it was me, I'd have _done_ something before now. I wouldn't be staying in _school_ like a good boy, I'd be out there _looking_ for him." Sihir looked behind him, watching the exchange.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" asked Ron.

"Don't you know, Potter?" Malfoy ignored Ron, concentrating on Harry.

"Know what?" Harry looked equal parts curious and frustrated.

Malfoy let out a dark chuckle. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck. Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you?" He paused, letting the smile on his face grow wider. "If it was me, I'd want _revenge_. I'd hunt him down myself."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry angrily.

They all jumped as Snape made an announcement. "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..."

* * *

Back in the Slytherin Common Room, Draco approached Sihir, who was reading from the dictionary. "How's the Egyptian going, Sihir?" Draco asked. His arm was out of the sling, now, no longer performing.

Sihir closed the book. He recognized the tone of voice. Draco wanted something. "Good, good. I need to practice with someone who speaks it, but we'll see."

"That's good, that's good… listen." He sat down across from Sihir. "I've been talking with some of our friends who were at the CoMC class." He grinned. "My father, he's been setting up an inquiry at the Ministry. I figured I'd get some… _help_ _,_ maybe some written statements from _witnesses_."

He leaned forward. "I mean, this could help _you_ out, as well. I know there's that _nasty_ rumor going around, that you're not as… _clean of blood_ as the rest of us. You help me out, I could help sway… _public opinion,_ as it were."

Sihir stared at Draco, disbelieving. He felt disgusted at the things coming out of Draco's mouth.

He cleared his throat, setting the book down and clasping his hands together. "No bollocks, now. You want me to _lie._ To _lie_ to the Ministry about the Hippogriff attack. _I didn't see it_ _,_ Draco. I was on the other side of the paddock. Who's to say you _didn't_ insult the Hippogriff, like everyone else has been saying."

The initially smug look on Draco's face slowly transitioned to shock at Sihir's calm reproach. " _What_ _?_ "

He motioned to Draco's arm. "It's obvious it didn't harm you, much. Is the sling just cosmetic? Is it the new Autumn look?" Sihir's voice was rising, and many others in the Common Room were taking notice.

Sihir stood up. "And another thing. What _is_ the deal with you and Potter, exactly?"

Draco looked around, seeing the Slytherins, a lot of them older, staring at them. "Sihir, _lower your voice_ …" he said in a low, dangerous voice, indicating the spectators.

"No, tell everyone. It's just us Slytherins, here. What. Is. Your. Deal. With. Potter?" Draco didn't answer at first, so Sihir pressed on. "You try to get them busted for smuggling a dragon in First Year, and lose us thirty points…"

A few of the Slytherins shot Draco angry looks, starting to mutter amongst themselves. His eyes widened. " _You said you wouldn't tell!_ _"_

Sihir continued. "Considering Gryffindors losses that same night, maybe not the biggest deal, but what about your first Quidditch match? You kept concentrating on getting Potter's hackles up, you failed to notice the _bleddy_ _snitch_ by your _bleddy_ _ear._ "

A few of the Quidditch team members were nodding, and the muttering grew slightly louder. Draco was flushed, looking around the room frantically for allies. Most of the Slytherins wore neutral, bordering on displeased, looks on their faces.

"Your… _rivalry_ _?_ Whatever you want to call it, with Potter? Not only has it been irritating to hear about these past two years, but it's been detrimental to Slytherin success as well." Sihir took a deep breath. "I'm done. I need to go to sleep…" Draco was red-faced, staring at the floor. Sihir grabbed his book, and turned to their audience of Slytherins. "Hope you enjoyed the show. Good night."

He strode off, to stunned silence from those assembled. Sihir smiled, feeling like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Ah, Sihir's fed up with Draco. Fun stuff, drama, excitement! Please, leave a comment, I'd love to hear what y'all think!


	10. Third Year: Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know! Sorry, new job was eating at my time, also writer's block and lack of inspiration. Whatever, here's a new chapter.

#  **Third Year: Help**

* * *

_“So, how did you end up getting better? I remember you were fine the year after that. Fourth.”_

_There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I actually… um. Sorry, this is still a little hard to think about, especially after what happened that night last year.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I ended up getting help after that… ‘incident’ with Malfoy. After Snape… After he took those points.”_

_“That’s right, you were the only Slytherin I know that got punished by Snape back then. What, like fifty points?”_

_“Forty. Would’ve been fifty if I were in any other House, probably.”_

_“So, you started getting help after that? From who?”_

_“...Snape.”_

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

* * *

“I know last time I mentioned we would be continuing our study of Red Caps, but I believe _this_ will be worth our class time today,” Professor Lupin called as the Slytherin Third Years made their way into the Staffroom. “So, who can tell me what we have, here?” The wardrobe Lupin was standing next to wobbled violently every so often. “Any guesses?”

Daphne raised her hand. “A Boggart, Professor?”

Lupin smiled. “Yes, take five points for Slytherin.” He turned back to the wardrobe. “The Boggart moved into this wardrobe last Wednesday. I asked the Headmaster and the Staff to leave it. I was planning on teaching the Third Year class about Boggarts, and since we have one…” 

He strode away from the wardrobe, taking his wand out. “Who can tell me _what_ a Boggart is?” A few people turned their heads toward Sihir, whose hand _did_ twitch in anticipation to answer, but he remained silent, eyes fixed on the wardrobe. He heard about the lesson, everyone taking a turn to face the Boggart. It was not something he was looking forward to.

“A Boggart changes its form to whatever will frighten one the most.”

“Another five points, Ms. Greengrass. Yes, Boggarts prefer dark places, so very few people can tell what they really look like when they’re alone,” he explained, pacing along the room. “Only a few forms of enhanced magical sight will allow for that. I, for one, have not had the pleasure. Or, more likely, displeasure,” he joked. Sihir heard Blaise chuckle.

“Ah, laughter!” He said, gesturing to Blaise, who immediately went silent. “No, you’re not in trouble. _Laughter._ That is the best weapon one can have when facing a Boggart. Mr. Nott?” Theo jumped at being called on directly. “What is another weapon that can be useful in facing the Boggart?”

Theo furrowed his brow. “I’ll give you a hint. You’re standing next to them.”

Theo looked to Sihir and Tracey next to him. He brightened. “Other people?”

Lupin smiled. “Good, take five points.” He gestured around the class. “We have the advantage of numbers today. While a Boggart will try to frighten one person, and could do so very easily, imagine the trouble it will run into when facing _two_ people, both with very different ideas of what frightens them. Or three, or four. Best to deal with household Boggarts when entertaining company.

“Now, keeping laughter in mind, the charm that repels the Boggart is simple, almost a taunt directed at it. The incantation is _riddikulus._ Repeat after me, without wands. _Riddikulus!”_

 _“Riddikulus!”_ the class chorused.

“Very good! Now, before we face the Boggart, I want you all to close your eyes, and think about what frightens you the most.” Most of the class did so, but Sihir simply stared at the wardrobe. He’d been edging further away from it as Professor Lupin had been lecturing. He knew what his fear was, he’d felt it when the Dementor boarded the train, and it was just the same when his eyes closed.

“Right, let’s have a go at it. Form a semicircle around, if you would…” The class moved back. “Now, any volunteers?” After a moment’s hesitation, Aoibheann stepped forward, pulling out her wand. “Repeat the incantation?”

“ _Riddikulus…”_ she said, focused on the wardrobe.

Lupin nodded, and stepped back. He waved his wand at the wardrobe. The class was dead silent as the door slowly opened. The sound of a horse snorting made several students yelp involuntarily. Out of the wardrobe slowly rode a black-cloaked man on a black horse. 

The sight, while menacing, seemed… off. That’s when Sihir noticed the rider was missing a head. The right arm lifted, its hand holding the missing head in question, which was grinning as it leered down at Aoibheann. 

“Éile…” the head called, grinning even wider. Aoibheann was trembling. “Éile!” The head cackled. The rider flexed its left arm, holding what looked to be a human spine that cracked like a whip as it struck the wall, making a few more students yelp.

“ _R-riddikulus!_ ” Aoibheann shouted. The horse neighed and disappeared from under the rider, who promptly landed on his bum. The head rolled off, cursing Aoibheann in a language Sihir didn’t know, maybe a form of Celtic. Aoibheann started giggling at the rider gingerly rubbing his posterior, which relaxed the class, who all started chuckling along.

“Well done, well done! Mr. Nott, you’re up.”

Theo stepped forward. With a crack, the Boggart shifted into an older man, silver haired and clean-shaven, with cold eyes that regarded Theo with an impassive contempt.

The man didn’t speak, but his presence alone seemed to paralyze Theo. He seemed to exude a subtle fury that gripped the class, all of whom seemed just as affected as Theo.

“Mr. Nott…” Though the Professor’s voice was soft, Theo still flinched. “The incantation…” 

Lupin’s words registered in Theo, who waved his wand. “ _Riddikulus!_ ” The cold man suddenly sprouted a comically large black handlebar mustache, ruining the effect of the contemptuous look. Theo snorted, and the man’s eyes raised in confusion, looking around the classroom.

“Look there! He’s becoming confused! Mr. Warren, have a go!”

Sihir stepped forward hesitantly. The now-mustachioed man regarded him, and changed his form. Sihir gasped as the form was lost completely, now a veritable void of blackness.

The blood drained from his face as he stared into the void. He couldn’t move, and found it difficult to breathe. All the sound from the world seemed to disappear into a dull roar that consumed his surroundings as the void drew closer, seemingly attempting to envelope him.

“No, no… no..!” Sihir backed away. “No!” There was a coldness inside him, an absence of any warmth. He felt abandoned again.

“Missst… Warrrnnn… Innnknnn…” a voice from the back of his mind said, distorted and muffled. Sihir couldn’t make it out. He could only feel the terror as the void grew.

With a sudden crack that brought Sihir back to the classroom, the Boggart transformed, the blackness shifting into a small concentrated ball of white. “ _Riddikulus!”_ The voice called, clearer now. It was Professor Lupin. The ball turned into a balloon that floated around, almost giving off a farting sound as it sped through the air. With another crack, it changed form again. 

Sihir edged away from the rest of the class as everyone else took a turn against the Boggart. He tried (and failed) to ignore the eyes still upon him. He couldn’t mistake the look of amusement and delight that adorned Draco’s face.

* * *

Over the next week, Sihir heard whispers around the Common Room and along the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Various looks were shot in his direction. Curiosity from people like Tracey, Pucey, and Aoibheann. Pity from people like Gemma, Blaise, and Daphne. Amusement from people like Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy.

The worst looks he noticed were from Draco. The same look he had on his face from the end of Sihir’s disastrous go at the Boggart. A wide, cruel smile. A certain determination in the eyes. He surely hadn’t forgotten Sihir’s verbal lashing, and this seemed a choice revenge, spreading stories of Sihir’s cowardice against a Boggart. 

Sihir simply retreated within and stopped talking to most people, if he could help it. He hadn’t shown up in the Library since the term started. He only talked to Hermione if they were working together in class. Blaise, respectfully, let him be, after making sure that’s what Sihir wanted.

It was roughly two weeks after that DADA lesson that Sihir noticed something worse was happening. The looks turned from curiosity and pity to distrust and fear. No longer limited to the Slytherin table, either, as people from the other Houses seemed to take more notice of him.

On a Monday morning he walked up the steps from the Dungeons, after lagging behind his classmates, to see Hermione and her friends by the Great Hall, heading to Breakfast.

He tried to hide himself by the Staircase, but Hermione made eye contact. She looked confused and, strangely, hurt. Not what he was expecting.

“Sihir-”

“You stay away from him,” Ron interrupted, herding her into the Great Hall. “With his father, you never-”

Sihir blanched. _My father?_ He quickly followed after them into the Great Hall and, looking over at the Gryffindor table, noticed Neville Longbottom looking at him with a look of pure _loathing._ His stomach knotted as he quickly turned to look at Draco, who wore that same, gloating look. He understood. His vision went red as he marched over to Draco, starting at a brisk pace, progressively gaining speed.

Fury lined his face as he made his way to Draco, and Draco suddenly lost his gloating look, standing up from the table and backing away.

“No, Sihir-!” It was too late to stop Sihir’s fist as it made its way toward Draco’s face. Draco fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose.

Ignoring the whistles and shouts around him, Sihir climbed on top of Draco, snarling and raining down more blows onto him. “YOU _BLEDDY_ TOLD _EVERYONE!”_ Sihir screamed, not relenting in his assault. He was pulled off by strong arms, his own fists bloody and swinging wildly. “ _YOU_ _BASTARD!_ ” he shouted, struggling to break free.

“ _Enough!”_ came the voice of their Head of House, who arrived on the scene, looking livid at the display. The entire school was watching. “ _My office. Now!”_

Draco was helped up by Crabbe and Goyle, while Sihir himself was led off by Adrian Pucey, who roughly shoved him in the direction Snape was leading.

Sihir was escorted to Professor Snape’s office, where he was made to sit. Snape excused Pucey, and adopted his own look of disgust as he judged Sihir from across the table. “What has gotten into you..?” he asked coldly. “Fighting– with another Slytherin, no less– in front of the entire school.”

Sihir was red-faced and teary-eyed with anger and embarrassment. He kept his eyes on his hands, still bloody and shaking.

“Well? Do you have an explanation?”

Sihir was breathing heavily, still keeping his eyes down. “I was jumping, sir.”

“Jumping.”

Sihir sniffed. “Angry, sir. I was angry.” Snape disapproved of slang, preferring his own students to speak properly when addressing him.

“And _what_ made you _so angry_ that you decided attacking one of your classmates was a good idea?”

Sihir met Professor Snape’s eyes. “He told _everyone._ ”

“Told everyone _what?”_

_“About my father!”_

Snape raised a finger. “Watch your tone, Warren,” he snapped. “I will not tolerate this _insolent_ behavior. Least of all from _you_.”

Sihir ducked his head again, abashed. “I’m sorry.”

Snape didn’t acknowledge Sihir’s apology, but simply stared at him. “You’ve been deteriorating ever since the beginning of Term, Warren. Your feud with Mr. Malfoy, your hesitant manner in the halls, your encounter with the Boggart. Not to mention your studies.” He leaned forward. “You told me you would find help. Have you met with your grandaunt, like I suggested?”

Sihir shook his head. “No…” he whispered. His throat felt tight again.

Snape’s nostrils flared. “No..?”

“No sir,” he hastily added.

“I do abhor taking points from those in our House, but it might remind you of _our_ rules. Forty points from Slytherin, Mr. Warren.” Sihir looked up, disbelieving. Snape was taking points away from a _Slytherin_ ? “In addition, a month’s worth of detention. And you can forget about attending the first Hogsmeade weekend. Now, _get out._ ”

* * *

Silence greeted Sihir as he stepped into the Great Hall the next day. Then whispers. And looks. He sighed, and made his way to the Slytherin table. Draco was there already, still bruised from the day before, though they were fading. He was in discussion with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. They quieted as Sihir approached.

"Draco," Sihir greeted in a clipped tone.

"Sihir," Draco greeted, in like fashion. They hadn’t talked since the fight, but, through mediation with the rest of their class group, they agreed to largely ignore each other for the time being. A greeting at most, for public appearance.

Sihir moved along, and sat a bit further away. A few older Slytherins wrinkled their noses and moved down the bench away from him.

 _Now I'm properly isolated, like the social pariah I am…_ Sihir shook his head, studying the Hall. A few people were throwing looks at him, for various reasons. From Slytherins, looks of disgust for his behavior the previous day. From others, looks of distrust, now that they knew his father is an unrepentant Death Eater.

Sihir searched the Hall, looking for people he knew. He'd lost a few friends, it seemed. Many seemed to be talking about him, or at least openly giving him the _looks._ Notable exceptions so far were Draco, who, on a positive note, seemed to not acknowledge Sihir past the initial greeting, and Hermione.

Hermione was looking at Sihir, sure, but not distrustfully like Ron and Harry. She was more curious, than anything else, but still had that hurt look in her eyes. As soon as Sihir caught her eye, however, she looked away quickly. 

"Morning, Sihir." Sihir jumped, startled out of his observations. Taking a seat next to him was Blaise, who looked nonchalant as ever.

"M-morning…" Sihir said, quietly. 

"Sleep well? I remember you tossing and turning quite a bit."

Sihir grimaced. "I didn't keep you up, did I?" Blaise simply rubbed his eyes, a silent answer. “Sorry…”

“Sihir… Are you alright? These past few weeks, you’ve been…” Blaise made a vague gesture with his hands.

Sihir sighed. “I…”

“Warren.” Sihir jumped again at the sound of the intruding voice. It was Professor Snape. “Your first detention is tonight. Be at my office at seven o’clock tonight.” He leaned forward. “Do _not_ be late.”

* * *

Sihir knocked on the office door. “Enter,” came Professor Snape’s voice.

Sihir opened the door and stepped through. Strangely, there seemed to be nothing prepared for his detention. No ingredients to be diced or chopped or skinned, no cauldrons to clean. Professor Snape was standing, arms crossed, waiting. “Sit.”

Sihir sat in the armchair before Snape’s desk, dreading what was to come. He’d heard from Gryffindors that had Snape’s detentions that the Slytherin Head could be near-Filch-levels of sadistic when it came to punishment.

“I’m not in the habit of handing out _detentions_ to my own Slytherins, Warren,” began Professor Snape, settling into his own chair across the desk from Sihir. “In this case, however, I feel it necessary.” Sihir remained silent, staring at the desk. “Your record has been spotless for your first two years. Excellent marks, polite. Top student amongst your Slytherin peers, and almost top of your Year group, if not for a certain… Gryffindor,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I had high hopes for you.” He leaned forward. “To be frank, I’m quite disappointed.”

The words hit the mark. Sihir had been on a downward spiral ever since his return to Hogwarts.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about my detentions,” Snape said, standing and conjuring another chair next to Sihir. “Obviously from those of _other_ houses–” a sharp look was shot Sihir’s way as Snape sat down in the other chair. “When it comes to the _rare_ detention I give a Slytherin, I would prefer to use the time to help that student get back on track. And _help,_ Warren, is what you need.”

“But sir–”

“No interruptions.” He leaned forward, hands clasped, studying Sihir. “You went through a traumatic experience last year, Warren. There’s no shame in admitting that. It’s clearly affecting- _clearly,_ ” he said, raising a finger as Sihir made to protest. “There’s no denying, Warren. It’s affecting your performance in school, in life. It’s _painfully_ obvious.”

He leaned back, settling into his seat. “We’re going to do something I think will help. A mental practice.” He looked over Sihir. “You’re stiff as a board, Warren. Settle into the seat, relax yourself.” 

Sihir sniffed. He hadn’t noticed. He leaned back, settling himself as Snape was.

“Good. This practice is about _mental clarity,_ Mr. Warren. Relaxing your body is a start, and is the first step in _clearing your mind_ …”

* * *

_“You let that sick bastard dig around your mind?”_

_Sihir sighed. “Yes, Snape helped me get over my trauma. Keyword, ‘trauma.’ Key phrase, ‘get over.’ Yes, he did use some mild Legilimency, and I, eventually, used some mild Occlumency.”_

_“How could you let him do that?”_

_“How was I going to know that he was going to kill Dumbledore? He was my Head of House, he’d always treated me fairly. I– He looked out for me. I know, I know, you’re thinking ‘giss on.’”_

_“Okay, I get it. He was Slytherin Head, and he spoiled you kids rotten.”_

_Sihir had to chuckle at that, but paused for a short silence. “Bastard…” he said, darkly._

_\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope it's not months for the next chapter! Sorry again!


End file.
